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MURRAY  AND  CIBB,   EDINBURGH, 
PRINTERS  TO   HER   MAJESTY'S  STATIONERY  OFFICE. 


THE      APR   4   192; 

Ministry  of  SumT 


FRANCES  RIDLEY  HAVERGAL 


TWENTY-THIRD  THOUSAND. 


NEW      YORK: 

E.    P.    BUTTON    &    COMPANY 

1879. 


1 

1 

la  mij  1[nt]^cti'$  i|?murj|. 

i 

X                           Contents. 

PAGE 

Misunderstood .         62 

Sunbeams  in  the  Wood 

65 

The  Star  Shower 

67 

Treasure  Trove      . 

70 

Coming  Summer 

72 

September  1868      . 

75 

Early  Faith 

77 

Our  Father 

So 

Disappointment.   . 

86 

The  Song  Chalice 

go 

Silent  in  Love        .... 

91 

Light  and  Shade 

92 

No  Thorn  without  a  Rose     . 

95 

Yesterday,  To-day,  and  for  Ever 

98 

Christ's  Recall       .... 

100 

Faith's  Question    .... 

102 

'  I  did  this  for  thee  !  What  hast  thou  d 

one  f 

orM 

e?"  105 

Isaiah  xxxiii.  17     . 

107 

God  the  Provider 

109 

Wait  Patiently  for  Him 

III 

This  Same  Jesus 

"3 

Mary's  Birthday 

IIS 

Daily  Strength      .... 

118 

The  Right  Way    .... 

119 

Thy  Will  be  Done 

122 

'  The  Things  which  are  Behind ' 

125 

'  Now  I  see  • 

126 

Confenis.                          xi 

PAGE 

Everlasting  Love 127 

'  Master,  say  on  ! ' 

129 

Remote  Results    .... 

T31 

On  the  Last  Leaf 

133 

How  should  they  know  me? 

137 

Making  Poetry      .... 

140 

The  Cascade          .... 

143 

Constance  de  V 

147 

Fairy  Homes         .... 

163 

More  Music           .... 

165 

Travelling  Thoughts     . 

166 

New  Year's  Wishes 

•      17c 

Bonnie  Wee  Eric 

My  Sweet  Woodruff     . 

174 

Our  Gem  Wreath 

177 

My  Name 

187 

Faith  and  Reason 

192 

Lynton           ..... 

195 

A  Birthday  Greeting  to  my  Father 

198 

A  Lull  in  Life 

199 

Adoration 

203 

THE 


MINISTRY    OF    SONG. 


PRELUDE. 

AMID  the  broken  waters  of  our  ever-rest- 
less thought, 
Oh   be  my  verse  an  answering   gleam    from 

higher  radiance  caught ; 
That  where  through  dark  o'erarching  boughs 

of  sorrow,  doubt,  and  sin, 
The  glorious  Star  of  Bethlehem  upon  the  flood 

looks  in. 
Its  tiny  trembling  ray  may  bid  some  downcast 

vision  turn 
To  that  enkindling  Light,  for  which  all  earthly 

shadows  yearn. 

A 


The  Mmistry  of  Song. 


Oh  be  my  verse  a  hidden  stream,  which  silently 
may  flow 

Where  drooping  leaf  and  thirsty  flower  in 
lonely  valleys  grow ; 

And  often  by  its  shady  course  to  pilgrim  hearts 
be  brought 

The  quiet  and  refreshment  of  an  upward-point- 
ing thought ; 

Till,  blending  with  the  broad  bright  stream  of 
sanctified  endeavour, 

God's  glory  be  its  ocean  home,  the  end  it 
seeketh  ever. 


THE  MINISTRY  OF  SONG. 

IN  God's  great  field  of  labour 
All  work  is  not  the  same  ; 
He  hath  a  service  for  each  one 

Who  loves  His  holy  name. 
And  you,  to  whom  the  secrets 

Of  all  sweet  sounds  are  known, 
Rise  up  !  for  He  hath  called  you 
To  a  mission  of  your  own. 


The  Ministry  of  Song. 


And,  rightly  to  fulfil  it, 

His  grace  can  make  you  strong, 
Who  to  your  charge  hath  given 

The  Ministry  of  Song. 

Sing  to  the  little  children, 

And  they  will  listen  well ; 
Sing  grand  and  holy  music, 

For  they  can  feel  its  spell. 
Tell  them  the  tale  of  Jephthah  ; 

Then  sing  them  what  he  said, — 
*  Deeper  and  deeper  still,'  and  watch 

How  the  little  cheek  grows  red. 
And  the  little  breath  comes  quicker : 

They  will  ne'er  forget  the  tale. 
Which  the  song  has  fastened  surely, 

As  with  a  golden  nail. 

I  remember,  late  one  evening, 

How  the  music  stopped,  for,  harkl 
Charlie's  nursery  door  was  open, 

He  was  calling  in  the  dark, — 
'  Oh  no  !  I  am  not  frightened. 

And  I  do  not  want  a  light ; 
But  I  cannot  sleep  for  thinking 

Of  the  song  you  sang  last  night. 


The  Ministry  of  Song. 


Something  about  a  "valley," 
And  "make  rough  places  plain,'' 

And  *'  Comfort  ye  ; "  so  beautiful ! 
Oh,  sing  it  me  again  I ' 

Sing  at  the  cottage  bedside  ; 

They  have  no  music  there, 
And  the  voice  of  praise  is  silent 

After  the  voice  of  prayer. 
Sing  of  the  gentle  Saviour 

In  the  simplest  hymns  you  know, 
And  the  pain-dimmed  eye  will  brighten 

As  the  soothing  verses  flow 
Better  than  loudest  plaudits 

The  murmured  thanks  of  such, 
For  the  King  will  stoop  to  crown  them 

With  His  gracious  *  Inasmuch.' 

Sing,  where  the  full-toned  organ 

Resounds  through  aisle  and  nave, 
And  the  choral  praise  ascendeth 

In  concord  sweet  and  grave. 
Sing,  where  the  village  voices 

Fall  harshly  on  your  ear  ; 
And,  while  more  earnestly  you  join, 

Less  discord  you  will  hear. 


The  Ministry  of  Song. 

The  noblest  and  the  humblest 
Alike  are  *  common  praise,' 

And  not  for  human  ear  alone 
The  psalm  and  hymn  we  raise. 

Sing  in  the  deepening  twilight, 

When  the  shadow  of  eve  is  nigh, 
And  her  purple  and  golden  pinions 

Fold  o'er  the  western  sky. 
Sing  in  the  silver  silence, 

While  the  first  moonbeams  fall ; 
So  shall  your  power  be  greater 

Over  the  hearts  of  all. 
Sing  till  you  bear  them  with  you 

Into  a  holy  calm. 
And  the  sacred  tones  have  scattered 

Manna,  and  myrrh,  and  balm. 

Sing  I  that  your  song  may  gladden  j 

Sing  like  the  happy  rills, 
Leaping  in  sparkling  blessing 

Fresh  from  the  breezy  hills. 
Sing  !  that  your  song  may  silence 

The  folly  and  the  jest. 
And  the  '  idle  word '  be  banished 

As  an  unwelcome  guest. 


The  Ministry  of  Son  i. 


Sing  !  that  your  song  may  echo 
After  the  strain  is  past, 

A  link  of  the  love-wrought  cable 
That  holds  some  vessel  fast. 


Sing  to  the  tired  and  anxious  j 

It  is  yours  to  fling  a  ray, 
Passing  indeed,  but  cheering, 

Across  the  rugged  way. 
Sing  to  God's  holy  servants, 

Weary  with  loving  toil, 
Spent  with  their  faithful  labour 

On  oft  ungrateful  soil. 
The  chalice  of  your  music 

All  reverently  bear. 
For  with  the  blessed  angels 

Such  ministry  you  share. 

When  you  long  to  bear  the  Messaj 

Home  to  some  troubled  breast. 
Then  sing  with  loving  fervour, 

•  Come  unto  Him,  and  rest.' 
Or  would  you  whisper  comfort. 

Where  words  bring  no  relief, 
Snig  how  •  He  was  despised, 

Acquainted  with  our  grief.' 


The  Ministry  of  Song. 


And,  aided  by  His  blessing, 

The  song  may  win  its  way 
Where  speech  had  no  admittance, 

And  change  the  night  to  day. 

Sing,  when  His  mighty  mercies 

And  marvellous  love  you  feel, 
And  the  deep  joy  of  gratitude 

Springs  freshly  as  you  kneel ; 
When  words,  like  morning  starlight, 

Melt  powerless, — rise  and  sing  ! 
And  bring  your  sweetest  music 

To  Him,  your  gracious  King. 
Pour  out  your  song  before  Him 

To  whom  our  best  is  due  ; 
Remember,  He  who  hears  your  prayer 

Will  hear  your  praises  too. 

Sing  on  in  grateful  gladness  ! 

Rejoice  in  this  good  thing 
Which  the  Lord  thy  God  hath  given  thee, 

The  happy  power  to  sing. 
But  yield  to  Him,  the  Sovereign, 

To  whom  all  gifts  belong, 
In  fullest  consecration, 

Your  Ministry  of  Song, 


The  Ministry  of  Song. 


Until  His  mercy  grant  you 
That  resurrection  voice, 

Whose  only  ministry  shall  be, 
To  praise  Him  and  rejoice. 


OUR  HIDDEN  LEA  VES. 

OH  the  hidden  leaves  of  Life  ' 
Closely  folded  in  the  heart ; 
Leaves  where  Memory's  golden  finger, 
Slowly  pointing,  loves  to  linger  ; 
Leaves  that  bid  the  old  tears  start. 

Leaves  where  Hope  would  read  the  future, 

Sibylline,  and  charged  with  fate  : 
Leaves  which  calm  Submission  closeth. 
While  her  tearless  eye  reposeth 
On  the  legend,  '  Trust,  and  wait ! ' 

Leaves  which  grave  Experience  ponders 

Soundings  for  her  pilot-charts ; 
Leaves  which  God  Himself  is  storing, 
Records  which  we  read,  adoring 
Him  who  writes  on  human  hearts. 


Our  Hidden  Leaves. 


All  our  own,  our  treasured  secrets, 

Indestructible  archives  1 
None  can  copy,  none  can  steal  them, 
Death  itself  shall  not  reveal  them, 

Sacred  manuscripts  of  lives. 

Some  are  filled  with  fairy  pictures, 

Half  imagined  and  half  seen  ; 
Radiant  faces,  fretted  towers, 
Sunset  colours,  starry  flowers. 
Wondrous  arabesques  between. 

Some  are  traced  with  liquid  sunbeams, 

Some  with  fire,  and  some  with  tears  i 
Some  with  crimson  dyes  are  glowing, 
From  a  smitten  life-rock  flowing 
Through  the  wilderness  of  years. 

Some  are  crossed  with  later  writing, 

Palimpsests  of  earliest  days  ; 
Old  remembrance  faintly  gleaming 
Through  the  thinking  and  the  dreaming 
Outlines  dim  in  noontide  haze. 

One  lies  open,  all  unwritten. 
To  the  glance  of  careless  sight ; 


lo  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

Yet  it  bears  a  shining  story, 
Traced  in  phosphorescent  glory. 
Only  legible  by  night. 

One  is  dark  with  hieroglyphics 

Of  some  dynasty  of  grief : 
Only  God,  and  just  one  other, 
Dearest  friend,  or  truest  brother, 

Ever  read  that  hidden  leaf. 

Many  a  leaf  is  undeciphered, 

Writ  in  languages  unknown  ; 
O'er  the  strange  inscription  bending, 
(Every  clue  in  darkness  ending,) 
Finding  no  *  Rosetta  Stone,' 

Still  we  study,  always  failing  ! 

God  can  read  it,  we  must  wait ; 
Wait,  until  He  teach  the  mystery, 
Then  the  wisdom-woven  history 

Faith  shall  read,  and  Love  translate. 

Leaflets  now  unpaged  and  scattered 

Time's  great  library  receives  ; 
When  eternity  shall  bind  them. 
Golden  volumes  we  shall  find  them, 
God's  light  falling  on  the  leaves. 


Threefold  Praise. 


THREEFOLD  PRAISE. 

Haydn— Mendelssohn— Handel. 

We  bless  Thee  for  our  creation,  preservation,  and  all 
the  blessings  of  this  life  ;  but  above  all,  for  Thine 
inestimable  love  in  the  redemption  of  the  world  by 
our  Lord  Jesus  Christ.' 

PART  I. 

'  We  bless  Thee  for  our  creation.* 

Haydn's  '  Creation.' 

HAT  is  the  first  and  simplest  praise, 
The  universal  debt, 
Which  yet  the  thoughtless  heart  of  man 

So  quickly  may  forget  ? 
«  We  bless  Thee  for  creation  ! ' 

So  taught  the  noble  band 
Who  left  a  sound  and  holy  form, 

For  ages  yet  to  stand, 
Rich  legacy  of  praise  and  prayer, 

Laid  up  through  ages  past, 
Strong  witness  for  the  truth  of  God  i 

Oh,  may  we  hold  it  fast  1 


w 


*  We  bless  Thee  for  creation  I 
So  are  we  blithely  taught 


The  Ministry  of  Song. 


By  Haydn's  joyous  spirit; 

Such  was  the  praise  he  brought. 
A  praise  all  morning  sunshine. 

And  sparklets  of  the  spring, 
O'er  which  the  long  life-shadows 

No  chastening  softness  fling. 


A  praise  of  early  freshness, 

Of  carol  and  of  trill, 
Re-echoing  all  the  music 

Of  valley  and  of  rill. 
A  praise  that  we  are  sharing 

With  every  singing  breeze, 
With  nightingales  and  linnets, 

With  waterfalls  and  trees  ; 
With  anthems  of  the  flowers. 

Too  delicate  and  sweet 
For  all  their  fairy  minstrelsy 

Our  mortal  ears  to  greet. 

A  mighty  song  of  blessing 
Archangels  too  uplift, 

For  their  own  bright  existence, 
A  grand  and  glorious  gift. 

But  such  their  full  life-chalice. 
So  sparkling  and  so  pure. 


Threefold  Praise.  T  3 


And  such  their  vivid  sense  of  joy, 
Sweet,  solid,  and  secure, 

We  cannot  write  the  harmonies 
To  such  a  song  of  bliss. 

We  only  catch  the  melody, 


We  are  but  little  children, 

And  earth  a  broken  toy ; 
We  do  not  know  the  treasures 

In  our  Father's  house  of  joy. 
Thanksgivings  for  creation 

We  ignorantly  raise  ; 
We  know  not  yet  the  thousandth  part 

Of  that  for  which  we  praise. 

Yet,  praise  Him  for  creation  1 

Nor  cease  the  happy  song, 
But  this  our  Hallelujah 

Through  all  our  life  prolong  ; 
•T  will  mingle  with  the  chorus 

Before  the  heavenly  throne, 
Where  what  it  truly  is  to  BU 

Shall  first  be  fully  known. 


14  The  Ministry  of  Song. 


PART   II. 
.    .    .   preservation,  and  all  the  blessings  of  this  life.' 
Mendelssohn's  '  Elijah. ' 

O  Felix  I  happy  in  thy  varied  store 
Of  harmonies  undreamt  before, 

How  different  was  the  gift 

Of  praise  'twas  thine  to  pour, 
Whether  in  stately  calm,  or  tempest  strong  and 
swift  ! 

Mark  the  day, 

In  mourning  robe  of  grey. 
Of  shrouded  mountain   and  of  storm -swept 

vale, 
And  purple  pall  spread  o'er  the  distance  pale. 

While  thunderous  masses  wildly  drift 
In  lurid  gloom  and  grandeur  :  then  a  swift 
And  dazzling  ray  bursts    through   a   sudden 

rift; 
The  dark  waves  glitter  as  the  storms  subside. 
And  all  is  light  and  glory  at  the  eventide. 

O  sunlight  of  thanksgiving !  Who  that  knows 
Its  bright  forth-breaking  after  dreariest  days, 


Th  reef  old  Praise.  1 5 

Would  change  the  after-thought  of  woes 
For  memory's  loveliest  light  that  glows, 
If  so  he  must  forego  one  note  of  that  sweet 
praise? 

For  not  the  song 
Which  knows  no  minor  cadence,   sad  and 
long; 

And  not  the  tide 
Whose  emerald  and  silver  pride 
Was  never  dashed  in  wild  and  writhing  fray, 
Where   grim  and   giant  rocks  hurl  back  the 
spray ; 
And  not  the  cr)^stal  atmosphere. 
That  carves  each  outline  sharp  and  clear 
Upon  a  sapphire  sky  :  not  these,  not  these. 
Nor  aught  existing  but  to  charm  and  please, 
Without  acknowledging  life's  mystery, 
And  all  the  mighty  reign 
Of  yearning  and  of  pain 
That  fills  its  half-read  history, 
Fit  music  can  supply 
To  lift  the  wandering  heart  on  high 
To  that   Preserving  Love,  which  rules   all 
change, 
And  gives  'all  blessings  of  this  life,'  so  dream- 
like and  so  strange. 


The  Ministry  of  Song. 


And  his  was  praise 
Deeper  and  truer,  such  as  those  may  raise 
Who  know  both  shade  and  sunlight,   and 
whose  life 
Hath  learnt  victorious  strife 
Of  courage  and  of  trust  and  hope  still  dear, 
With  passion  and  with  grief,  with  danger  and 
with  fear. 


Upriseth  now  a  cry. 
Plaintive  and  piercing,  to  the  brazen  sky  : 
Help,  Lord  !  the  harvest  days  are  gone  ; 
Help,  Lord  !  for  other  help  is  none  j 
The  infant  children  ciy  for  bread, 
And   no   man   breaketh   it.      The   suckling's 
tongue  for  thirst 
Now  cleaveth  to  his  mouth.      Our  land  is 
cursed ; 
Our  wasted  Zion  mourns,   in  vain  her  hands 
are  spread. 

A  mother's  tale  of  grief. 
Of  sudden  blight  upon  the  chief. 
The  otily  flower  of  love  that  cheered  her 
widowed  need : 
O  loneliest !     O  desolate  indeed  ! 


Threefold  Praise.  17 

Were  it  not  mockery  to  whisper  here 
A  word  of  hope  and  cheer  ? 


A  mountain  brow,  an  awe-struck  crowd, 
The   prayer-sent  flame,    the   prayer-sent 
cloud, 
A  mighty  faith,  a  more  than  kingly  power, 

Changed  for  depression's  darkest  hour, 
For  one  lone  shadow  in  the  desert  sought, 
A  fainting  frame,  a  spirit  overwrought, 
A  sense  of  labour  vain,  and  strength  all  spent 
for  nought. 

Death  hovering  near. 
With  visible  terror-spear 
Of  famine,  or  a  murder-stained  sword, 
A  stricken  land  forsaken  of  her  Lord  ; 
While  bowed  with  doubled  fear. 
The  faithful  few  appear  j 
O  sorrows  manifold  outpoured  ! 
Is  blessing   built   upon  such  dark    founda- 
tion ; 
And  can  a  temple  rising  from  such  woe, 
Rising  upon  such  mournful  crypts  below, 
Be   filled   with   light   and  joy   and    sounding 
adoration  ? 


1 8  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

O  strange  mosaic  !  wondrously  inlaid 

Are  all  its  depths  of  shade, 
With  beauteous  stones  of  promise,  marbles 

fair 
Of  trust  and  calm,    and  flashing  brightly, 

there 
The  precious  gems  of  praise  are  set,   and 

shine 
Resplendent  with  a  light  that  almost  seems 

Divine. 

Thanks  be  to  God  ! 
The  thirsty  land  He  laveth, 
The  perishing  He  saveth  ; 
The  floods  lift  up  their  voices, 
The  answering  earth  rejoices. 
Thanks    be    to    Him,    and    never  -  ending 

laud. 
For  this  new  token  of  His  bounteous  love, 
Who  reigns  in  might  the  waterfloods  above  : 
The  gathering  waters  rush  along  ; 
And  leaps  the  exultant  shout,  one  cataract  of 
song, 

Thanks  be  to  God  ! 

Thus  joyously  we  sing  ; 
Nor  is  this  all  the  praise  we  bring. 


Threefold  Praise.  1 9 

We  need  not  wait  for  earthquake,   storm, 
and  fire 
To  lift  our  praises  higher  ; 
Nor  wait  for  heaven-dawn  ere  we  join  the 
hymn 
Of  throne-surrounding  cherubim  ; 
For  even  on  earth  their  anthem  hath  begun, 
To  Him,  the  Mighty  and  the  Holy  One. 
We  know  the  still  small  Voice  in  many  a 

word 
Of  guidance,   and  command,   and  promise 

heard  ; 
And,  knowing  it,  we  bow  before  His  feet. 
With  love  and  awe  the  seraph-strain  repeat. 
Holy,  Holy,  Holy  I     God  the  Lord  ! 
His  glory  fills  the  earth.  His  name  be  all-adored. 

O  Lord,  our  Lord !  how  excellent  Thy  name 
Throughout  this  universal  frame  1 

Therefore  Thy  children  rest 
Beneath  the  shadow  of  Thy  wings, 

A  shelter  safe  and  blest ; 
And  tune  their  often  tremulous  strings 
Thy  love  to  praise,  Thy  glory  to  proclaim, 
The  Merciful,  the  Gracious  One,  eternally  The 
Same. 


20  The  Ministry  of  Song. 


PART  III. 

*  .  .  .  but  above  all,  for  Thine  inestimable  love  in  the 
redemption  of  the  world  by  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ.' 

Handel's  '  Messiah  ' 

Hush  I  for  a  master  harp  is  tuned  again, 

In  truest  unison  with  choirs  above, 
For  prelude  to  a  loftier,  sweeter  strain, 

The  praise  of  God's  inestimable  love  ; 
Who  sent  redemption  to  a  world  of  woe, 
That  all  a  Father's  heart  His  banished  ones 
might  know. 

Hush  1  while  on  silvery  wing  of  holiest  song 
Floats  forth  the  old,  dear  story  of  our  peace, 
His  coming,  the  Desire  of  Ages  long. 

To  wear  our  chains,   and  win  our  glad 
release. 
Our  wondering  joy,  to  hear  such  tidings  blest, 
Is  crowned  with  *  Come  to  Him,  and  He  will 
give  you  rest. ' 

Rest,  by  His  sorrow  !     Bruised  for  our  sin. 
Behold  the  Lamb  of  God  !  His  death  our 
life. 


T7i  reejold  Praise.  1 1 

Now  lift  your  heads,  ye  gates !  He  entereth  in, 
Christ  risen  indeed,  and  Conqueror  in  the 
strife. 
Thanks,  thanks  to  Him  who  won,  and  Him 
who  gave 
Such  victory  of  love,  such  triumph  o'er  the 
grave. 


Hark  !  *  Hallelujah  1'  O  sublimest  strain ! 

Is  it  prophetic  echo  of  the  day 
When  He,  our  Saviour  and  our  King,  shall 
reign, 
And  all  the  earth  shall  own  His  righteous 
sway? 
Lift  heart  and  voice,  and  swell  the  mighty 
chords, 
While  hallelujahs  peal,  to  Him,  the  Lord  of 
lords  ! 

*  Worthy  of  all  adoration. 

Is  the  Lamb  that  once  was  slain,' 
Cry,  in  raptured  exultation. 
His  redeemed  from  every  nation  ; 

Angel  myriads  join  the  strain, 
Sounding  from  their  sinless  strings 
Glory  to  the  King  of  kings  : 


22  The  Ministiy  of  Song. 

Harping,  with  their  harps  of  gold, 
Praise  which  never  can  be  told. 

Hallelujahs  full  and  swelling 

Rise  around  His  throne  of  might, 

All  our  highest  laud  excelling, 

Holy  and  Immortal,  dwelling 
In  the  unapproachM  light. 

He  is  worthy  to  receive 

All  that  heaven  and  earth  can  give  ; 

Blessing,  honour,  glory,  might, 

All  are  His  by  glorious  right. 

As  the  sound  of  many  waters 

Let  the  full  Amen  arise  ! 
Hallelujah  !     Ceasing  never. 
Sounding  through  the  great  for  evep, 

Linking  all  its  harmonies  ; 
Through  eternities  of  bliss. 
Lord,  our  rapture  shall  be  this  ; 
And  our  endless  life  shall  be 
One  Amen  of  praise  to  Thee. 


Not  Yet.  23 


NOT    YET. 
John  xiii.  7. 

NOT  yet  thou  knowest  what  I  do, 
O  feeble  child  of  earth, 
Whose  life  is  but  to  angel  view 

The  morning  of  thy  birth  ! 
The  smallest  leaf,  the  simplest  flower, 

The  wild  bee's  honey-cell, 
Have  lessons  of  My  love  and  power 
Too  hard  for  thee  to  spell. 

Thou  knowest  not  how  I  uphold 

The  little  thou  dost  scan  ; 
And  how  much  less  canst  thou  unfold 

My  universal  plan. 
Where  all  thy  mind  can  grasp  of  space 

Is  but  a  grain  of  sand  ; — 
The  time  thy  boldest  thought  can  trace, 

One  ripple  on  the  strand  ! 

Not  yet  thou  knowest  what  I  do 
In  this  wild,  warring  world, 


24  The  Ministry  of  Song, 

Whose  prince  doth  still  triumphant  view 

Confusion's  flag  unfurled  ; 
Nor  how  each  proud  and  daring  thought 

Is  subject  to  My  will, 
Each  strong  and  secret  purpose  brought 

My  counsel  to  fulfil. 

Not  yet  thou  knowest  how  I  bid 

Each  passing  hour  entwine 
Its  grief  or  joy,  its  hope  or  fear, 

In  one  great  love-design  ; 
Nor  how  I  lead  thee  through  the  night, 

By  many  a  various  way. 
Still  upward  to  unclouded  light, 

And  onward  to  the  day. 

Not  yet  thou  knowest  what  I  do 

Within  thine  own  weak  breast, 
To  mould  thee  to  My  image  true, 

And  fit  thee  for  My  rest. 
But  yield  thee  to  My  loving  skill ; 

The  veiled  work  of  grace. 
From  day  to  day  progressing  still, 

It  is  not  thine  to  trace. 

Yes,  walk  by  faith  and  not  by  sight, 
Fast  clinging  to  My  hand  ; 


Tha7iks giving. 


Content  to  feel  My  love  and  might, 

Not  yet  to  understand. 
A  little  while  thy  course  pursue, 

Till  grace  to  glory  grow  ; 
Then  what  I  am,  and  what  I  do, 

Hereafter  thou  shalt  know. 


THANKSGIVING, 

THANKS  be  to  God !  to  whom  earth 
Sunshine  and  breeze, 
The  heath-clad  hill,  the  vale's  repose,  " 

Streamlet  and  seas. 
The  snowdrop  and  the  summer  rose. 
The  many-voiced  trees. 

Thanks  for  the  darkness  that  reveals 

Night's  starry  dower  ; 
And  for  the  sable  cloud  that  heals 

Each  fevered  flower  ; 
And  for  the  rushing  storm  that  peals 
Our  weakness  and  Thy  power. 


26  The  Mi7iistry  of  Song. 

Thanks  for  the  sweetly-lingering  might 

In  music's  tone  ; 
For  paths  of  knowledge,  whose  calm  liglit 

Is  all  Thine  own  ; 
For  thoughts  that  at  the  Infinite 
Fold  their  bright  wings  alone. 

Yet  thanks  that  silence  oft  may  flow 

In  dewlike  store ; 
Thanks  for  the  mysteries  that  show 

How  small  our  lore  ; 
Thanks  that  we  here  so  little  know, 
And  trust  Thee  all  the  more  ! 

Thanks  for  the  gladness  that  entwines 

Our  path  below  ; 
Each  sunrise  that  incarnadines 

The  cold,  still  snow  ; 
Thanks  for  the  light  of  love  which  shines 
With  brightest  earthly  glow. 

Thanks  for  the  sickness  and  the  grief 

Which  none  may  flee  ; 
For  loved  ones  standing  now  around 

The  crystal  sea  ; 
And  for  the  weariness  of  heart 
Which  only  rests  in  Thee. 


Thanks  s:iviiisC' 


Thanks  for  Thine  own  thrice-blessed  Word, 

And  Sabbath  rest  ; 
Thanks  for  the  hope  of  glory  stored 

In  mansions  blest ; 
Thanks  for  the  Spirit's  comfort  poured 
Into  the  trembling  breast. 

Thanks,  more  than  thanks,  to  Him  ascend, 

Who  died  to  win 
Our  life,  and  every  trophy  rend 

From  Death  and  Sin  ; 
Till,  when  the  thanks  of  Earth  shall  end, 
The  thanks  of  Heaven  begin. 


Note.— It  may  be  well  to  say,  that  these  verses  were 
in  print  before  the  writer  either  saw  or  heard  of  the 
beautiful  little  poem  by  Adelaide  Procter  on  the  same 
theme. 


28  The  Ministry  of  Song. 


LIFE-CRYSTALS. 

THE  world  is  full  of  crystals.      Swift,  or 
slow, 
Or  dark,  or  bright  their  varying  formation  ; 
From  pure  calm   heights   of   fair  untrodden 

snow 
To  fire-wrought  depths  of  earliest  creation. 
And  life  is  full  of  crystals  ;  forming  still 
In  myriad-shaped  results  from  good  and  seem- 
ing ill. 

Yes  !  forming  everywhere  ;  in  busiest  street. 
In  noisiest  throng.     Oh  how  it  would  astound 

us, 
The  strange  soul-chemistry  of  some  we  meet 
In  slight  and  passing  talk  !  For  all  around  us, 
Deep  inner  silence  broods  o'er  gems  to  be. 
Now,  in  three  visioned  hearts  trace  out  the  work 

with  me ! 

A  heart  that  wonderingly  received  the  flow 
Of  marvels  and  of  mysteries  of  being, 
Of  sympathies  and  tensions,  joy  and  woe  ; 
Each  earnestly  from  baser  substance  freeing  : 


Life-Crystals.  2g 

A  great  life-mixture,  full,  and  deep,  and  strong : 
A  sudden  touch,  and  lo !  it  crystallized  in  song. 

Then  forth  it  flashed  among  the  souls  of  men 
Its  own  prismatic  radiance,  brightly  sealing 
A  several  rainbow  for  each  several  ken  ; 
The  secrets  of  the  distant  stars  revealing ; 
Reflecting  many  a  heart's  clear  rays  unknown, 
And,  freely  shedding  light,  it  analysed  their 
own. 

A  heart  from  which  all  joy  had  ebbed  away, 
And  grief  poured  in  a  flood  of  burning  anguish, 
Then  sealed  the  molten  glow ;  till,  day  by  day, 
The  fires  without,  within,  begin  to  languish  : 
Then  'afterward*  came  coolness;  all  was  well, 
And  from  the  broken  crust  a  shining  crystal  fell. 

A  mourner  found,  and  fastened  on  her  breast 
The  soft-hued   gem,  the  prized  by  mourners 

only; 
With  sense  of  treasure  gained  she  sought  her 

rest, 
No  longer  wandering  in  the  twilight  lonely ; 
The  sorrow-crystal  glittering  in  the  dark, 
While  faith  and  hope  shone  out  to  greet  its  starry 

spark. 


The  Ministry  of  Song. 


A  heart  where  emptiness  seemed  emptier  made 
By  colourless  remains  of  tasteless  pleasure  ; 
ONE  came,  and  pitying  the  hollow  shade, 
Poured   in    His    own   strong   love   in   fullest 

measure ; 
Then  shadowed  it  with  silent  falling  night, 
And  stilled  it  with  the  solemn  Presence  of  His 

might. 

A  little  while,  then  found  the  Master  there 
Love-crystals  sparkling  in  the  joyous  morning ; 
He  stooped  to  gaze,  and  smiled  to  own  them 

fair, 
A  treasured  choice  for  His  own  rich  adorning ; 
Then  set  them  in  His  diadem  above, 
To  mingle  evermore  with  His  own  light  and 

love. 


Not  Your  Own. 


NOT  YOUR  OWN. 

*  "\TOT  your  own  !'  but  His  ye  are, 
1  \l  Who  hath  paid  a  price  untold 
For  your  life,  exceeding  far 

All  earth's  store  of  gems  and  gold. 
With  the  precious  blood  of  Christ, 
Ransom  treasure  all  unpriced, 
Full  redemption  is  procured, 
Full  salvation  is  assured. 

*  Not  your  own  ! '  but  His  by  right, 

His  peculiar  treasure  now, 
Fair  and  precious  in  His  sight, 

Purchased  jewels  for  His  brow. 
He  will  keep  what  thus  He  sought, 
Safely  guard  the  dearly  bought. 
Cherish  that  which  He  did  choose, 
Always  love  and  never  lose. 

*  Not  your  own  ! '  but  His,  the  King, 

His,  the  Lord  of  earth  and  sky. 
His,  to  whom  archangels  bring 
Homage  deep  and  praises  high. 


32  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

What  can  royal  birth  bestow  ? 
Or  the  proudest  titles  show  ? 
Can  such  dignity  be  known 
As  the  glorious  name,  *  His  own  ! ' 

*  Not  your  own  ! '  To  Him  ye  owe 
All  your  life  and  all  your  love  ; 
Live,  that  ye  His  praise  may  show, 

Who  is  yet  all  praise  above. 
Every  day  and  every  hour. 
Every  gift  and  every  power, 
Consecrate  to  Him  alone, 
Who  hath  claimed  you  for  His  own. 

Teach  us,  Master,  how  to  give 

All  we  have  and  are  to  Thee  ; 
Grant  us.  Saviour,  while  we  live. 

Wholly,  only.  Thine  to  be. 
Henceforth  be  our  calling  high 
Thee  to  serve  and  glorify ; 
Ours  no  longer,  but  Thine  own, 
Thine  for  ever.  Thine  alone  I 


Wounded.  33 


WOUNDED 

ONLY  a  look  and  a  motion  that  nobody 
saw  or  heard, 
Past  in  a  moment  and  over,  with  never  the 

sound  of  a  word  ; 
Streams  of  converse  around  me  smoothly  and 

cheerily  flow, 
But  a  terrible  stab  has  been  given,  a  silent  and 
staggering  blow. 

Guesses  the  hand  that  gave  it  hardly  a  tithe  of 

the  smart, 
Nothing  at  all  of  the  anguish  that  fiercely  leapt 

up  in  my  heart. 
Scorching  and    scathing   its   peace,    while   a 

tremulous  nerve  to  the  brain 
Flashed  up  a  telegram  sudden,  a  message  of 

quivering  pain. 

They  must  be  merry  without  me,  for  how  can  I 
sing  to-night  ? 

They  will  only  think  I  am  tired,  and  thought- 
fully shade  the  light ; 


34  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

Finger  and  voice  would  fail  while  the  wound  is 

open  and  sore ; 
Bleeding  away  the  strength  I  had  gathered  for 

days  before. 

Only  a  look  and  a  motion  !     Yes,  but  we  little 

know 
How  from  each  dwarf-like  *  only '  a  giant  of 

power  may  grow  ; 
The  thundering  avalanche  crushes,  loosened  by 

only  a  breath, 
And  only  a  colourless  drop  may  be  laden  with 

sudden  death. 

Only  a  word  of  command,  but  it  loses  or  wins 

the  field  ; 
Only  a  stroke  of  the  pen,  but  a  heart  is  broken 

or  healed  ; 
Only  a  step  may  sever,  pole-wide,  future  and 

past ; 
Only  a  touch  may  rivet  links  which  for  life  shall 

last. 

Only  a  look  and  a  motion !   Why  was  the  wound 

so  deep  ? 
Were  it  no  echo  of  sorrow,  hushed  for  a  while 

to  sleep, 


WottJided.  35 


Were  it  no  shadow  of  fear,  far  o'er  the  future 

thrown, 
Slight  were  the  suffering  now,  if  it  bore  on  the 

present  alone. 

Ah  !  I  would  smile  it  away,  but  't  k  all  too 

fresh  and  too  keen  ; 
Perhaps  I  may  some  day  recall  it  as  if  it  had 

never  been ; 
Now  I  can  only  be  still,  and  endure  where  I 

cannot  cope, 
Praying  for  meekness  and  patience,  praying  for 

faith  and  hope. 

Is  it  an  answer  already  that  words  to  my  mind 
are  brought. 

Floating  like  shining  lilies  on  waters  of  gloomi- 
est thought  ? 

Simple  and  short  is  the  sentence,  but  oh!  what 
it  comprehends  ! 

*  Those  with  which  I  was  woujtded,  in  the  house 
of  My  friends.'' 

Floating  still  on  my  heart,  while  I  listen  again 

and  again, 
Stilling  the  anxious  throbbing,  soothing  the  icy 

pain. 


2,6  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

Proving  its  sacred  mission  healing  and  balm  to 

bring. 
'Coming?'     Yes,  if  you  want  me!     Yes,  1 

am  ready  to  sing. 


WHOSE  I  AM. 

JESUS,  Master,  whose  I  am. 
Purchased  Thine  alone  to  be, 
By  Thy  blood,  O  spotless  Lamb, 

Shed  so  willingly  for  me  ; 
Let  my  heart  be  all  Thine  own, 
Let  me  live  to  Thee  alone. 

Other  lords  have  long  held  sway  ; 

Now,  Thy  name  alone  to  bear, 
Thy  dear  voice  alone  obey. 

Is  my  daily,  hourly  prayer. 
Whom  have  I  in  heaven  but  Thee? 
Nothing  else  my  joy  can  be. 

Jesus,  Master  !  I  am  Thine  ; 

Keep  me  faithful,  keep  me  near  ; 


Whom  I  Serve.  37 

Let  Thy  presence  in  me  shine 

All  my  homeward  way  to  cheer. 
Jesus  !  at  Thy  feet  I  fall, 
Oh,  be  Thou  my  All-in-all. 


WHOM  I  SERVE. 

JESUS,  Master,  whom  I  serve, 
Though  so  feebly  and  so  ill, 
Strengthen  hand  and  heart  and  nerve 

All  Thy  bidding  to  fulfil ; 
Open  Thou  mine  eyes  to  see 
All  the  work  Thou  hast  for  me. 

Lord,  Thou  needest  not,  I  know, 
Service  such  as  I  can  bring  ; 

Yet  I  long  to  prove  and  show 
Full  allegiance  to  my  King. 

Thou  an  honour^  art  to  me, 

Let  me  be  a  praise  to  Thee. 

*  See  marginal  reading  of  i  Pet.  ii.  7. 


38  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

Jesus,  Master  !  wilt  Thou  use 

One  who  owes  Thee  more  than  all  ? 

As  Thou  wilt  1     I  would  not  choose, 
Only  let  me  hear  Thy  call. 

Jesus  !  let  me  always  be 

In  Thy  service  glad  and  free. 


PEA  CE. 

IS  this  the  Peace  of  God,  this  strange,  swett 
calm? 
The  weary  day  is  at  its  zenith  still, 
Yet  't  is  as  if  beside  some  cool,  clear  rill, 
Through  shadowy  stillness  rose  an  evening 
psalm. 
And  all  the  noise  of  life  were  hushed  away. 
And    tranquil    gladness   reigned   with   gently 
soothing  sway. 

It  was  not  so  just  now.     I  turned  aside 
With  aching  head,  and  heart  most  sorely  bowed  ; 
Around  me  cares  and  griefs  in  cmshing  crowd^ 

While  inly  rose  the  sense,  in  swelling  tide, 


Peace,  39 

Of  weakness,  insufficiency,  and  sin, 
And  fear,  and  gloom,  and  doubt,  in  mighty 
flood  rolled  in. 

That  rushing  flood  I  had   no   strength   to 
meet. 
Nor  power  to  flee  :  my  present,  future,  past, 
My  self,  my  sorrow,  and  my  sin  I  cast 

In  utter  helplessness  at  Jesu's  feet ; 
Then  bent  me  to  the  storm,  if  such  His  will. 
He  saw  the  winds  and  waves,  and  whispered, 
*  Peace,  be  still ! ' 

And  there  was  calm  !    O   Saviour,   I  have 
proved 
That  Thou  to  help  and  save  art  really  near  : 
How  else  this  quiet  rest  from  grief,  and  fear. 

And  all  distress  ?     The  cross  is  not  removed, 
I  must  go  forth  to  bear  it  as  before, 
But,  leaning  on  Thine  arm,  I  dread  its  weight 
no  more. 

Is  it  indeed  Thy  Peace  ?     I  have  not  tried 
To  analyse  my  faith,  dissect  my  trust. 
Or  measure  if  belief  be  full  and  just, 

And  therefore  claim  Thy  Peace.     But  Thou 
hast  died, 


40  The  M mis  try  of  Song. 

T  know  that  this  is  true,  and  true  for  me, 
And,  knowing  it,  I  come,  and  cast  my  all  on 
Thee. 

It  is  not  that  I  feel  less  M^eak,  but  Thou 
Wilt  be  my  strength  ;  it  is  not  that  I  see 
Less  sin,  but  more  of  pardoning  love   with 
Thee, 
And  all-sufficient  grace.    Enough !    And  now 
All  fluttering  thought  is  stilled,  I  only  rest. 
And  feel  that  Thou  art  near,  and  know  that 
I  am  blest. 


GOUS  MESSAGE. 
TO   HIM   THAT   IS   FAR   OFF 

PEACE,  peace ! 
To  him  that  is  far  away. 
Turn,  O  wanderer !  why  wilt  thou  die, 
When  the  peace  is  made  that  shall  bring  thee 
nigh? 


God^s  Message.  41 

Listen,  O  rebel !  the  heralds  proclaim 
The  King's  own   peace  through  a  Saviour's 
name ; 
Then  yield  thee  to-day. 

Peace,  peace  ! 

The  Avord  of  the  Lord  to  thee. 
Peace,  for  thy  passion  and  restless  pride, 
For  thy  endless  cravings  all  unsupplied, 
Peace  for  thy  weaiy  and  sin-worn  breast ; 
He  knows  the  need  who  has  promised  rest, 

And  the  gift  is  free. 

Peace,  peace ! 

Through  Him  who  for  all  hath  died  ! 
Wider  the  tei*ms  than  thy  deepest  guilt, 
Or  in  vain  were  the  blood  of  our  Surety  spilt : 
Even  because  thou  art  far  away 
To  thee  is  the  message  of  peace  to-day, 

Peace  through  the  Crucified. 

AND   TO   HIM    THAT   IS    NEAR. 

PEACE,  peace ! 

Yea,  peace  to  him  that  is  near. 

The  crown  is  set  on  the  Victor's  brow. 

For  thy  warfare  is  accomplished  now  j 


42  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

And  for  thee  eternal  peace  is  made 
By  the  Lord  on  whom  thy  sins  were  laid  : 
Then  why  shouldst  thou  fear  ? 

Peace,  peace ! 
Wrought  by  the  Spirit  of  Might. 
In  thy  deepest  sorrow  and  sorest  strife, 
In  the  changes  and  chances  of  mortal  life, 
It  is  thine,  beloved  !     Christ's  own  bequest, 
Which  vainly  the  Tempter  shall  strive  to  wrest 
It  is  now  thy  right. 

Peace,  peace ! 

Look  for  its  bright  increase  ; 
Deepening,  widening,  year  by  year. 
Like  a  sunlit  river,  strong,  calm,  and  clear  ; 
Lean  on  His  love  through  this  earthly  vale, 
For  His  word  and  His  work  shall  never  fail, 

And  *  He  is  our  Peace.' 


*  A  Great  Mystery.^  43 


•  A  GREA  T  M  YS  TER  Y. ' 

THERE  is  a  hush  in  earth  and  sky, 
The  ear  is  free  to  list  aright 
In  darkness,  veiling  from  the  eye 
The  many-coloured  spells  of  light. 

Not  heralded  by  fire  and  storm. 
In  shadowy  outline  dimly  seen, 

Comes   through    the    gloom   a    glorious 
Form, 
The  once  despised  Nazarene. 

Through  waiting  silence,  voiceless  shade, 
A  still,  small  Voice  so  clearly  floats, 

A  listening  lifetime  were  o'erpaid 
By  one  sweet  echo  of  such  notes. 

*  Fear  not,  beloved  !  thou  art  Mine, 

For  I  have  given  My  life  for  thee  ; 
By  name  I  call  thee,  rise  and  shine, 
Be  praise  and  glory  unto  Me. 

•  In  Me  all  spotless  and  complete, 

And  in  My  comeliness  most  fair 


44  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

Art  thou ;  to  Me  thy  voice  is  sweet, 
Prevailing  in  thy  feeblest  prayer. 

*  Thy  life  is  hid  in  God  with  Me, 
I  stoop  to  dwell  within  thy  breast ; 

My  joy  for  ever  thou  shalt  be, 
And  in  My  love  for  thee  I  rest. 

'  O  Prince's  daughter,  whom  I  see 
In  bridal  garments,  pure  as  light, 

Betrothed  for  ever  unto  Me, 

On  thee  My  own  new  name  I  write,' 

Lo  !  'neath  the  stars'  uncertain  ray 
In  flowing  mantle  glistening  fair, 

One,  lowly  bending,  turns  away 

From  that  sweet  voice  in  cold  despair. 

Is  it  Humility,  who  sees 

Herself  unworthy  of  such  grace, 

Who  dares  not  hope  her  Lord  to  please. 
Who  dares  not  look  upon  His  face  ? 

Nay,  where  that  mantle  fleeting  gleams, 
'T  is  Unbelief  who  turns  aside. 

Who  rather  rests  in  self-spun  dreams, 
Than  trust  the  love  of  Him  who  died 


'•A  Great  Mystery.'  45 

P'aith  casts  away  the  fair  disguise, 

She  will  not  doubt  her  Master's  voice, 

And  droop  when  He  hath  bid  her  rise, 
Or  mourn  when  He  hath  said,  'Rejoice! 

Her  stained  and  soiled  robes  she  leaves, 
And  Christ's  own  shining  raiment  takes  ; 

What  His  love  gives,  her  love  receives, 
And  meek  and  trustful  answer  makes  : 

'  Behold  the  handmaid  of  the  Lord  ! 
Thou  callest,  and  I  come  to  Thee  : 
According  to  Thy  faithful  word, 

0  Master,  be  it  unto  me  ! 

'  Thy  love  I  cannot  comprehend, 

1  only  know  Thy  word  is  true, 
And  that  thou  lovest  to  the  end 

Each  whom  to  Thee  the  Father  drew. 

*  Oh !  take  the  heart  I  could  not  give 

Without  Thy  strength-bestowing  call ; 
In  Thee,  and  for  Thee,  let  me  live. 
For  I  am  nothing.  Thou  art  all.* 


46  The  Ministry  of  Son ^ 


BE  NOT  WEARY. 

YES  !  He  knows  the  way  is  dreary, 
Knows  the  weakness  of  our  frame, 
Knows  that  hand  and  heart  are  weary 

He,  *in  all  points,'  felt  the  same. 
He  is  near  to  help  and  bless  ; 
Be  not  weary,  onward  press. 

Look  to  Him  who  once  was  willing 

All  His  glory  to  resign, 
That,  for  thee  the  law  fulfilling, 

All  His  merit  might  be  thine. 
Strive  to  follow  day  by  day 
Where  His  footsteps  mark  the  way. 

Look  to  Him,  the  Lord  of  Glory, 
Tasting  death  to  win  thy  life  ; 

Gazing  on  *  that  wondrous  story,' 
Canst  thou  falter  in  the  strife  ? 

Is  it  not  new  life  to  know 

That  the  Lord  hath  loved  thee  so  ? 

Look  to  Him  who  ever  liveth, 
Interceding  for  His  own  : 


The  Great  Teacher.  47 

Seek,  yea,  claim  the  grace  He  giveth 

Freely  from  His  priestly  throne. 
Will  He  not  thy  strength  renew 
AYith  His  Spirit's  quickening  dew? 

Look  to  Him,  and  faith  shall  brighten, 
Hope  shall  soar,  and  love  shall  burn  ; 

Peace  once  more  thy  heart  shall  lighten  ; 
Rise  !  He  calleth  thee,  return  ! 

Be  not  weary  on  thy  way, 

Jesus  is  thy  strength  and  stay. 


THE  GREAT  TEACHER. 

I  LOVE  to  feel  that  I  am  taught, 
And,  as  a  little  child, 
To  note  the  lessons  I  have  learnt 

In  passing  through  the  wild. 
For  I  am  sure  God  teaches  me, 
And  His  own  gracious  hand 
Each  varying  page  before  me  spreads, 
By  love  and  wisdom  planned. 


4-8  The  MinisUy  of  Song. 

I  often  think  I  cannot  spell 

The  lesson  I  must  learn, 
And  then,  m  weariness  and  doubt, 

I  pray  the  page  may  turn  ; 
But  time  goes  on,  and  soon  I  find 

I  was  learning  all  the  while  ; 
And  words   which   seemed   most    dimly 
traced 

Shine  out  with  rainbow  smile. 

Or  sometimes  strangely  I  forget, 

And,  learning  o'er  and  o'er, 
A  lesson  all  with  tear-drops  wet, 

Which  I  had  learnt  before. 
He  chides  me  not,  but  waits  awhile, 

Then  wipes  my  heavy  eyes  : 
Oh  what  a  Teacher  is  our  God, 

So  patient  and  so  wise  ! 

Dark  silent  hours  of  study  fall, 

And  I  can  scarcely  see  ; 
Then  one  beside  me  whispers  low 

What  is  so  hard  to  me. 
'T  is  easier  then  1  I  am  so  glad 

I  am  not  taught  alone  ; 
It  is  such  help  to  overhear 

A  lesson  like  my  own. 


The  Great  Teacher.  49 

Sometimes  the  Master  gives  to  me 

A  strange  new  alphabet ; 
I  wonder  what  its  use  will  be, 

Or  Avhy  it  need  be  set. 
And  then  I  find  this  tongue  alone 

Some  stranger  ear  can  reach, 
One  whom  He  may  commission  me 

For  Him  to  train  or  teach. 


If  others  sadly  bring  to  me 

A  lesson  hard  and  new, 
I  often  find  that  helping  them 

Has  made  me  learn  it  too. 
Or,  had  I  learnt  it  long  before. 

My  toil  is  overpaid. 
If  so  one  tearful  eye  may  see 

One  lesson  plainer  made. 

We  do  not  see  our  Teacher's  face, 

We  do  not  hear  His  voice  ; 
And  yet  we  know  that  He  is  near, 

We  feel  it,  and  rejoice. 
There  is  a  music  round  our  hearts, 

Set  in  no  mortal  key  ; 
There  is  a  Presence  with  our  souls, 

We  know  that  it  is  He. 
n 


50  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

His  loving  teaching  cannot  fail ; 

And  we  shall  know  at  last 
Each  task  that  seemed  so  hard  and  strange, 

When  learning  time  is  past. 
Oh  !  may  we  learn  to  love  Him  more. 

By  every  opening  page, 
By  every  lesson  He  shall  mark 

With  daily  ripening  age. 

And  then,  to  '  know  as  we  are  known ' 

Shall  be  our  glorious  prize, 
To  see  the  Teacher  who  hath  beeo 

So  patient  and  so  wise. 
O  joy  untold  I  Yet  not  alone 

Shall  ours  the  gladness  be  ; 
The  travail  of  His  soul  in  us 

Our  Saviour-God  shall  see. 


Atcntie's  Lessons.  ^\ 


A  UNTIE' S  LESSONS. 

THEY  said  their  texts,  and  their   hymns 
they  sang, 
On  that  sunny  Sabbath-day  ; 
And   yet   there  was  time  ere  the  church-bell 
rang. 
So  I  bid  them  trot  away. 
And  leave  me  to  rest  and  read  alone, 
Where  the  ash-tree's  shade  o'er  the  lawn  was 
thrown. 


But  oh  !  't  was  a  cry  and  a  pleading  sore, 
*  O  Auntie  !  we  will  not  tease, 

But  tell  us  one  Sunday  story  more  ; 

We  will  sit  so  still  on  the  grassy  floor  ; 

Tell  us  the  one  you  told  before 
Of  little  black  Mumu,  please, 

Whom,  deaf  and  dumb,  and  sick  and  lone, 

The  good  ship  brought  to  Sierra  Leone.' 


Willie  begged  loud,  and  Francie  low, 
And  Alice,  who  could  resist  her  ? 


I 

53  The  Minis ijy  of  Song.  j 

Certainly  not  myself,  and  so 

The  story  was  just  beginning,  when  lo  I 

To  the  rescue  came  my  sister. 
*  7  will  tell  you  a  story  to-day  ; 
Aunt  Fanny  has  all  her  own  lessons  to  say  1 ' 

Wonderful  notion,  and  not  at  all  clear ! 

Alfred  looked  quite  astounded. 
Who  in  the  world  my  lessons  could  hear? 
They  guessed  at  every  one  far  and  near, 

'T  was  a  mystery  unbounded. 
They  settled  at  last  that  it  must  be 
Grandpapa  Havergal  over  the  sea. 


Then  merry  eyes  grew  grave  and  wise. 

On  tiptoe  Alice  trod  ; 
She  had  a  better  thought  than  they. 
And  whispered  low,  '  Does  Auntie  say 

Her  lessons  all  to  God  ?  ' 
How  little  the  import  deep  she  knew 
Of  those  baby-words,  so  sweet  and  true  f 

Little  she  knew  what  they  enfold  ! — 
A  treasure  of  happy  thought  ; 

A  tiny  casket  of  virgin  gold, 

With  jewels  of  comfort  fraught. 


Rest.  53 

Great  men's  wisdom  may  pass  away, 
Dear  Alice's  words  in  my  heart  will  stay. 


REST. 

*  Thou  hast  made  us  for  Thyself,  and  the  heart  never 
resteth  till  it  findeth  rest  in  Thee.'— ^z?.  A  ugustine. 

MADE  for  Thyself,  O  God  ! 
Made  for  Thy  love,  Thy  service,  Thy  delight ; 
Made  to  show  forth  Thy  wisdom,  grace,  and 

might ; 
Made  for  Thy  praise,  whom  veiled  archangels 

laud  ; 
Oh  strange  and  glorious  thought,  that  we  may  be 
A  joy  to  Thee  ! 

Yet  the  heart  turns  away 
From  this  grand  destiny  of  bliss,  and  deems 
'  T   was  made  for   its  poor   self,   for  passing 

dreams. 
Chasing  illusions  melting  day  by  day  ; 
T\W.for  ourselves  we  read  on  this  world's  best, 
*  This  is  not  rest  1 ' 


54  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

Nor  can  the  vain  toil  cease, 
Till  in  the  shadowy  maze  of  life  we  meet 
One  who  can  guide  our  aching,  wayward  feet 
To  find  Himself,  our  Way,  our  Life,  our  Peace. 
In  Him  the  long  unrest  is  soothed  and  stilled  ; 
Our  hearts  are  filled. 

O  rest,  so  true,  so  sweet  ! 
(Would  it  were  shared  by  all  the  weary  world  !) 
'Neath  shadowing  banner  of  His  love  unfurled. 
We  bend  to  kiss  the  Master's  pierced  feet : 
Then  lean  our  love  upon  His  loving  breast, 
And  know  God's  rest. 


ONE  QUESTION,  MANY  ANSWERS. 

*  WHAT  wouldst  thou  be  ? ' 
The  question  hath  wakened  wild  thoughts  in  me, 
And  a  thousand  responses,  like  ghosts  from  their 

graves. 
Arise  from  my  soul's  unexplored  deep  caves, 
The  echoes  of  every  varying  mood 
Of  a  wayward  spirit  all  unsubdued  ; 


One  Question,  Many  Ansivers.      55 

The  voices  which  thrill  through  my  inmost 

breast 
May  tell  me  of  gladness,  but  not  of  rest. 

What  wouldst  thou  be? 
'T  is  well  that  the  answer  is  not  for  me. 

*  What  wouldst  thou  be  ? ' 
An  eagle  soaring  rejoicingly. 

One  who  may  rise  on  the  lightning's  wing, 
Till  our  wide,  wide  world  seem  a  tiny  thing  ; 
Who  may  stand  on  the  confines  of  boundless 

space, 
And  the  giant  form  of  the  universe  trace. 
While  its  full  grand  harmonies  swell  around, 
And  grasp  it  all  with  mind  profound. 

Such  would  I  be, 
Only  stayed  by  infinity. 

*  What  wouldst  thou  be  ? ' 
A  bright  incarnation  of  melody. 
One  whose  soul  is  a  fairy  lute. 
Waking  such  tones  as  bid  all  be  mute. 
Breathing  such  notes  as  may  silence  woe. 
Pouring  such  strains  as  make  joy  o'erflow, 
Speaking  in  music  the  heart's  deep  emotion, 
Soothing  and  sweet  as  the  shell  of  the  ocean. 


5^  The  Minisby  of  Song. 

Such  would  I  be, 
Like  a  fountain  of  music,  all  pure  and  free. 

'What  wouldst  thou  be?' 

A  living  blossom  of  poesy, 
j       A  soul  of  mingled  power  and  light, 
I       Evoking  images  rare  and  bright, 
I       Fair  and  pure  as  an  an-'el's  dream  ; 

Touching  all  with  a  heavenly  gleam  ; 

And  royally  claiming  from  poet-throne 

Earth's  treasure  of  beauty  as  all  mine  own. 
Such  would  I  be — 

My  childhood's  dream  in  reality  I 

'  What  wouldst  thou  be  ? ' 
A  wondrous  magnet  to  all  I  see. 
A  spirit  whose  power  may  touch  and  bind 
With  unconscious  influence  every  mind  ; 
Whose  presence  brings,  like  some  fabled  wand, 
The  love  which  a  monarch  may  not  command  • 
As  the  spring  awakens  from  cold  repose 
The  bloomless  brier,  the  sweet  wild  rose. 

Such  would  I  be, 
With  the  love  of  all  to  encircle  me  ! 

*  What  wouldst  thou  be  ? ' 
A  wavelet  just  rising  from  life's  wide  sen. 


One  Question^  Many  Answers.      57 

I  would  I  were  once  again  a  child, 

Like  a  laughing  floweret  on  mountains  wild  ; 

In  the  fairy  realms  of  fancy  dwelling, 

The  golden  moments  for  sunbeams  selling ; 

Ever  counting  on  bright  to-morrows, 

And  knowing  nought  of  unspoken  sorrows. 

Such  would  I  be, 
A  sparkling  cascade  of  untiring  glee. 

'  What  wouldst  thou  be  ? ' 
A  blessing  to  each  one  surrounding  me  ; 
A  chalice  of  dew  to  the  weary  heart, 
A  sunbeam  of  joy  bidding  sorrow  depart, 
To  the  storm-tossed  vessel  a  beacon  light, 
A  nightingale  song  in  the  darkest  night, 
A  beckoning  hand  to  a  far-off  goal. 
An  angel  of  love  to  each  friendless  soul : 

Such  would  I  be. 
Oh  that  such  happiness  were  for  me  ! 


*  What  wouldst  thou  be  ? ' 
With  these  alone  were  no  rest  for  me. 
I  would  be  my  Saviour's  loving  child. 
With  a  heart  set  free  from  its  passions  wild. 
Rejoicing  in  Him  and  His  own  sweet  ways  ,- 
An  echo  of  heaven's  unceasing  praise. 


58  The  Ministry  of  Soiig. 

A  mirror  here  of  His  light  and  love, 
And  a  polished  gem  in  His  crown  above. 

Such  would  I  be, 
Thine,  O  Saviour,  and  one  with  Thee  ! 


CONTENT. 

*  •'  WHAT  wouldst  thou  be?  " 
A  wavelet  just  rising  from  life's  wide  sea. 
I  would  I  were  once  again  a  child. 
Like  a  laughing  floweret  on  mountains  wild  j 
In  the  fairy  realms  of  fancy  dwelling, 
The  golden  moments  for  sunbeams  selling  ; 
Ever  counting  on  bright  to-morrows, 
And  knowing  nought  of  unspoken  sorrows  : 

Such  would  I  be, 
A  sparkling  cascade  of  untiring  glee.' 

i860. 

Not  so,  not  so  ! 
For  longings  change  as  the  full  years  flow. 
"When  I  had  but  taken  a  step  or  two 
From  the  fairy  regions  still  in  view  ; 


Content.  59 


While  their  playful  breezes  fanned  me  still 
At  every  pause  on  the  steeper  hill, 
And  the  blossoms  showered  from  every  shoot, 
Showered  and  fell,  and  yet  no  fruit,-- 

It  was  grief  and  pain 
That  I  never  could  be  a  child  again. 


Not  so,  not  so  ! 
Back  to  my  life-dawn  I  would  not  go. 
A  little  is  lost,  but  more  is  won, 
As  the  sterner  work  of  the  day  is  done. 
We  forget  that  the  troubles  of  childish  days 
Were  once  gigantic  in  morning  haze. 
There  is  less  of  fancy,  but  more  of  tmth, 
For  we  lose  the  mists  with  the  dew  of  youth  ; 

And  a  rose  is  bom 
On  many  a  spray  which  seemed  only  thorn. 

Not  so,  not  so  ! 
While  the  years  of  childhood  glided  slow, 
There  was  all  to  receive  and  nothing  to  give 
Is  it  not  better  for  others  to  live  ? 
And  happier  far  than  merriest  games 
Is  the  joy  of  our  new  and  nobler  aims  : 
Then  fair  fresh  flowers,  now  lasting  gems  j 
Then  wreaths  for  a  day,  but  now  diadems, 


6o  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

For  ever  to  shine, 
Bright  in  the  radiance  of  Love  Divine. 


Not  so,  not  so  ! 
I  would  not  again  be  a  child,  I  know  ! 
But  were  it  not  pleasant  again  to  stand 
On  the  border-line  of  that  fairy  land, — 
Feeling  so  buoyant  and  blithe  and  strong. 
Fearing  no  slip  as  we  bound  along, 
Halting  at  will  in  the  sunshine  to  bask. 
Deeming  the  journey  an  easy  task, 

While  Courage  and  Hope 
Smooth  with  'Come,  see,  and  conquer' each 
emerald  slope  ? 


Not  so,  not  so  ! 
Less  leaping  flame,  but  a  deeper  glow  ! 
There  is  more  of  sorrow,  but  more  of  joy, 
Less  glittering  ore,  but  less  alloy  ; 
There  is  more  of  pain,  but  more  of  balm, 
And  less  of  pleasure,  but  more  of  calm  ; 
Many  a  hope  all  spent  and  dead, 
But  higher  and  brighter  hopes  instead  ; 

Less  risked,  more  won  ; 
Less  planned  and  dreamed,  but  perhaj)s  more 
done. 


Content.  6 1 


Not  so,  not  so  ! 
Not  in  stature  and  learning  alone  we  grow. 
Though  we  no  more  look  from  year  to  year 
For  power  of  mind  more  strong  and  clear, 
Though  the  table-land  of  life  we  tread, 
No  widening  view  before  us  spread, 
No  sunlit  summits  to  lure  ambition. 
But  only  the  path  of  a  daily  mission, 

We  would  not  turn 
Where  the  will-o'-the-wisps  of  our  young  dreams 
burn. 

Then  be  it  so  ! 
For  in  better  things  we  yet  may  grow. 
Onward  and  upward  still  our  way, 
With  the  joy  of  progress  from  day  to  day  ; 
Nearer  and  nearer  every  year 
To  the  visions  and  hopes  most  true  and  dear  ; 
Children  still  of  a  Father's  love, 
Children  still  of  a  home  above  ! 

Thus  we  look  back, 
Without  a  sigh,  o'er  the  lengthening  track. 

1 86  7. 


62  The  Ministry  of  Son^ 


MIS  UNDER S  TOOD. 

*  T^EOPLE  do  not  understand  me, 
.L        Their  ideas  are  not  like  mine  ; 
All  advances  seem  to  land  me 

Still  outside  their  guarded  shrine. ' 

So  you  turn  from  simple  joyance, 
Losing  many  a  mutual  good, 

Weary  with  the  chill  annoyance 
So  to  be  misunderstood. 

Let  me  try  to  lift  the  curtain 
Hiding  other  hearts  from  view  ; 

You  complain,  but  are  you  certain 
That  the  fault  is  not  with  you  ? 

In  the  sunny  summer  hours, 
Sitting  in  your  quiet  room, 

Can  you  wonder  if  the  flowers 

Breathe  for  you  no  sweet  perfume  ? 

True,  you  see  them  bright  and  pearly 
With  the  jewelry  of  morn  ; 


Misii  nderstood.  6  \ 

But  their  fragrance,  fresh  and  early, 
Is  not  through  your  window  borne. 

You  must  go  to  them,  and  stooping, 
Cull  the  blossoms  where  they  live  ; 

On  your  bosom  gently  drooping, 
All  their  treasure  they  will  give. 

Who  would  guess  what  fragrance  lingen 
In  verbena's  pale'  green  show  ! 

Press  the  leaflet  in  your  fingers. 
All  its  sweetnesf  you  will  know. 

Few  the  harps  ^olian,  sending 

Unsought  music  on  the  wind  : 
Else  must  love  and  skill  be  blending 

Music's  full  response  to  find. 

But  my  key-note,'  are  you  thinking.. 

'  Will  not  modulate  to  theirs  ?  * 
Seek  !  and  subtle  chords  enlinking, 
Soon  shall  blend  the  differing  airs. 

Fairly  sought,  some  point  of  contact 
There  must  be  with  eveiy  mind  ; 

And,  perchance,  the  closest  compact 
Where  we  least  expect  we  find. 


64  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

Perhaps  the  heart  you  meet  so  coldly 
Burns  with  deepest  lava-glow  ; 

Wisely  pierce  the  crust,  and  boldly. 
And  a  fervid  stream  shall  flow. 

Dialects  of  love  are  many, 

Though  the  language  be  but  one  ; 

Study  all  you  can,  or  any, 

While  life's  precious  school-hours  run. 

Closed  the  heart-door  of  thy  brother, 
All  its  treasure  long  concealed  ? 

One  key  fails,  then  try  another. 
Soon  the  rusty  lock  shall  yield. 

Few  have  not  some  hidden  trial. 
And  could  sympathise  with  thine : 

Do  not  take  it  as  denial 

That  you  see  no  outward  sign. 

Silence  is  no  certain  token 
That  no  secret  grief  is  there  ; 

Sorrow  which  is  never  spoken 
Is  the  heaviest  load  to  bear. 

Seldom  can  the  heart  be  lonely, 
If  it  seek  a  lonelier  still. 


Sunbeams  in  the  Wood.  65 

Self- forgetting,  seeking  only 
Emptier  cups  of  love  to  fill. 

'T  will  not  be  a  fruitless  labour, 

Overcome  this  ill  with  good  ; 
Try  to  understand  your  neighbour  ^ 

And  you  tuill  be  understood. 


SUNBEAMS  IN  THE   WOOD. 

MARK  ye  not  the  sunbeams  glancing 
Through  the  cool  green  shade, 
On  the  waving  fern-leaves  dancing, 
In  the  quiet  glade  ? 

See  you  how  they  change  and  quiver 

Where  the  broad  oaks  rise, 
Rippling  like  a  golden  river 

From  their  fountain  skies  ? 

On  the  grey  old  timber  resting 

Like  a  sleeping  dove, 
Like  a  fairy  grandchild  nesting 

In  an  old  man's  love. 


66  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

On  the  dusty  pathway  tracing 
Arabesques  with  golden  style  ; 

Light  and  shadow  interlacing, 
Like  a  tearful  smile. 

Many  a  hidden  leaf  revealing, 

Many  an  unseen  flower  ; 
Like  a  maiden  lightly  stealing 

Past  each  secret  bower. 

Oh  !  how  beautiful  they  make  it 

Everywhere  they  fall  ; 
Sunbeams  !  why  will  ye  forsake  it 

At  pale  Evening's  call  ? 

In  the  arching  thickets  linger, 

In  the  woodland  aisle, 
Gilding  them  with  trembling  finger, 

Yet  a  little  while. 

Then,  your  last  calm  radiance  pouring, 

Bid  the  earth  good-night ; 
Like  a  sainted  spirit  soaring 

To  a  home  of  light. 


The  Star  Shower.  67 

THE  STAR  SHOWER. 
November  14,  1866. 

OH  !  to  raise  a  mighty  shout, 
And  bid  the  sleepers  all  come  out  I 
No  dreamer's  fancy,  fair  and  high, 
Could  image  forth  a  grander  sky. 
And  oh  for  eyes  of  swifter  power 
To  follow  fast  the  starry  shower ! 
Oh  for  a  sweep  of  vision  clear 
To  grasp  at  once  a  hemisphere  ! 

The  solemn  old  chorale  of  Night, 

With  fullest  chords  of  awful  might, 

Re-echoes  still  in  stately  march 

Throughout  the  glowing  heavenly  arch  : 

But  harmonies  all  new  and  rare 

Are  intermingling  everywhere, 

Fantastic,  fitful,  fresh,  and  free ; 

A  sparkling  wealth  of  melody, 

A  carol  of  sublimest  glee, 

Is  bursting  from  the  starry  chorus, 

In  dazzling  exultation  o'er  us. 


68  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

O  wondrous  sight !  so  swift,  so  bright, 

Like  sudden  thrills  of  strange  delight ; 

As  if  the  stars  were  all  at  play, 

And  kept  ecstatic  holiday  ; 

As  if  it  were  a  jubilee 

Of  glad  millenniums  fully  told. 

Or  universal  sympathy 

With  some  new-dawning  age  of  gold. 


Flashing  from  the  lordly  lion, 
Flaming  under  bright  Procyon, 
From  the  farthest  east  up-ranging, 
Past  the  blessed  orb^  unchanging  ; 
Ursa's  brilliance  far  out-gleaming, 
From  the  veiy  zenith  streaming  ; 
Rushing,  as  in  joy  delirious. 
To  the  pure  white  ray  of  Sirius  ; 
Past  Orion's  belted  splendour, 
Past  Capella,  clear  and  tender  ; 
Lightening  dusky  Polar  regions, 
Brightening  pale  encircling  legions  ; 
Lines  of  fiery  glitter  tracing. 
Parting,  meeting,  interlacing ; 

*  *  That  admirable  Polar  Star,  which  is  a  Messing  to 
astronomeis.' — Professor  Airy's  Popular  Lectures  on 
A  siroHoniy. 


The  Star  Shower.  69 

Paling  every  constellation 
With  their  radiant  revelation  ! 
All  we  heard  of  meteor  glory 
Is  a  true  and  sober  story  ; 
Who  w^ill  not  for  life  remember 
This  night  grandeur  of  November  ? 


'T  is  over  now,  the  once-seen,  dream-like  sight ! 
With  gradual  hand  the  clear  and  breezy  dawn 
Hath  o'er  the  marvels  of  the  meteor  night 
A  veil  of  light  impenetrable  drawn. 
And  earth  is  sweeping  on  through  starless  space. 
Nor  may  we  once  look  back,  the  shining  field 
to  trace. 

Ere  next  the  glittering  stranger-throng  we  meet, 
How  many  a  star  of  life  will  seek  the  west ! 
Our  century's  dying  pulse  will  faintly  beat ; 
The  toilers  of  to-day  will  be  at  rest  ; 
And  little  ones,  who  now  but  laugh  and  play, 
Will  weary  in  the  heat  and  burden  of  the  day. 

Oh,  is  there  nothing  beautiful  and  glad 
But  bears  a  message  of  decay  and  change  ? 
So  be  it  1     Though  we  call  it  stem  and  sad, 
Viewed  by  the  torch  of  Love,  it  is  not  strange. 


70  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

'T  is  mercy  that  in  Nature's  every  strain 
Deep  warning  tones  peal  out,  in  solemn  sweet 
refrain. 


And  have  not  all  created  things  a  voice 
For  those  who  listen  farther, — whispers  low 
To  bid  the  children  of  the  light  rejoice 
In  burning  hopes  they  yet  but  dimly  know  ? 
What  will  it  be,  all  earthly  darkness  o'er, 
To  shine  as  stars  of  God  for  ever — evermore  I 


TREASURE  TROVE. 

I  PLAYED  with  the  whispering  rushes^ 
By  a  river  of  reverie, 
Flowing  so  quietly  onward 
Into  an  unknown  sea. 

And  I  watched  the  dreamy  current, 

Till  to  my  feet  it  brought, 
Glistening  among  the  pebbles, 

The  pearl  of  a  fair  new  thought. 


T7'easure  Trove.  71 

New  !  yet  many  another, 

Leaning  over  the  stream, 
May  have  welcomed  its  sudden  shining, 

And  gazed  on  its  gentle  gleam. 

Long  it  must  have  been  lying, 

Yet  it  is  new  to  me. 
Oh  the  treasures  around  us, 

If  we  could  only  see  ! 

I  have  broken  the  smooth  dark  water 
Into  ripples  and  circles  briglit, 

Lifting  my  pearl  from  the  pebbles, 
Bearing  away  its  light. 

I  am  so  glad  to  have  found  it ! 

I  shall  treasure  it  safely  a  while, 
It  will  brighten  the  niche  that  is  darkest 

In  my  spirit's  loneliest  aisle. 

And  then,  it  may  be,  a  dear  one 
Will  wear  it,  a  long,  long  time. 

Fastened  firm  on  her  bosom, 
In  a  setting  of  silver  rhynae. 


The  Ministry  of  Song. 


W 


COMING  SUMMER. 

HAT  will  the  summer  brinj;? 
Sunshine  and  flowers, 
Brightness  and  melody, 
Golden-voiced  hours  ; 
Rose-gleaming  mornings 

Vocal  with  praise ; 
Crimson- flushed  evenings, 
Nightingale  lays. 

What  may  the  summer  bring  ? 

Gladness  and  mirth, 
Laughter  and  song, 

For  the  children  of  earth  ; 
Smiles  for  the  old  man, 

Joy  for  the  strong, 
Glee  for  the  little  ones 

All  the  day  long. 

What  will  the  summer  bring  ? 

Coolness  and  shade. 
Eloquent  stillness 

In  thicket  and  glade  ; 


Coming  Sumjner.  73 

Whispering  breezes. 

Fragrance  oppressed  ; 
Lingering  twilight 

Soothing  to  rest. 

What  may  the  summer  bring  ? 

Freshness  and  calm 
To  the  care-worn  and  troubled, 

Beauty  and  balm. 
O  toil-weary  spirit, 

Rest  thee  anew, 
For  the  heat  of  the  world-race- 

Summer  hath  dew ! 

What  will  the  summer  bring  ? 

Sultry  noon  hours, 
Lurid  horizons, 

Fro^vning  cloud-towers  ! 
Loud-crashing  thunders, 

Tempest  and  hail. 
Death-bearing  lightnings, 

It  brings  without  fail. 

What  may  the  summer  bring  ? 

Dimness  and  woe, 
Blackness  of  sorrow 

Its  bright  days  may  know ; 


74  The  Ministry  of  Song, 

Flowers  may  be  wormwood^ 

Verdure  a  pall, 
The  shadow  of  death 

On  the  fairest  may  fall. 

Is  it  not  ever  so  ? 

Where  shall  we  find 
Light  that  may  cast 

No  shadow  behind  ? 
Calm  that  no  tempest 
i  May  darkly  await  ? 

Joy  that  no  sorrow 
I  May  swiftly  abate  ? 

I  Will  the  story  of  summer 

}  Be  written  in  light, 

Or  traced  in  the  darkness 
j  Of  storm-cloud  and  night  ? 

We  know  not — we  would  not  know 
i  Why  should  we  quail  ? 

i  Summer,  we  welcome  thee  1 

':  Summer,  all  hail ! 


September  \Z(iZ.  75 


SEPTEMBER  1868. 

AN  April  burst  of  beauty, 
And  a  May  like  the  Mays  of  old, 
And  a  glow  of  summer  gladness 

While  June  her  long  days  told  ; 
And  a  hush  of  golden  silence 

All  through  the  bright  July, 
Without  one  peal  of  thunder, 

Or  a  storm-wreath  in  the  sky  ; 
And  a  fiery  reign  of  August, 

Till  the  moon  was  on  the  wane  ; 
And  then  short  clouded  evenings. 

And  a  long  and  chilling  rain. 
I  thought  the  summer  was  over. 

And  the  whole  year's  glory  spent. 
And  that  nothing  but  fog  and  drizzle 

Could  be  for  Autumn  meant ; — 
Nothing  but  dead  leaves,  falling 

Wet  on  the  dark,  damp  mould, 
Less  and  less  of  the  sunshine, 

More  and  more  of  the  cold. 

But  oh  !  the  golden  day-time  j 
And  oh  !  the  silver  nights  ; 


76  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

And  the  scarlet  touch  on  the  fir  trunks 

Of  the  calm,  grand  sunset  lights  ; 
And  the  morning's  bright  revealings, 

Lifting  the  pearly  mist, 
Like  a  bridal  veil,  from  the  valley 

That  the  sun  hath  claimed  and  kissed  ; 
And  oh  !  the  noontide  shadows 

Longer  and  longer  now, 
On  the  river  margin  resting. 

Like  the  tress  on  a  thoughtful  brow. 
Rich  fruitage  bends  the  branches 

With  amber,  and  rose,  and  gold, 
O'er  the  purple  and  crimson  asters, 

And  geraniums  gay  and  bold. 
The  day  is  warm  and  glowing. 

But  the  night  is  cool  and  sweet, 
And  we  fear  no  smiting  arrows 

Of  fierce  and  fatal  heat. 
The  leaves  are  only  dropping, 

Like  flakes  of  a  sunset  cloud. 
And  the  robin's  song  is  clearer 

Than  Spring's  own  minstrel- crowd. 
A  soft  new  robe  of  greenness 

Decks  every  sunny  mead. 
And  we  own  that  bright  September 

Is  beautiful  indeed. 


Early  Faith,  77 


Is  thy  life-summer  passing  ? 

Think  not  thy  joys  are  o'er  ! 
Thou  hast  not  seen  what  Autumn 

For  thee  may  have  in  store. 
Calmer  than  breezy  April, 

Cooler  than  August  blaze, 
The  fairest  time  of  all  may  be 

September's  golden  days. 
Press  on,  though  Summer  waneth. 

And  falter  not,  nor  fear. 
For  God  can  make  the  Autumn 

The  glory  of  the  year. 


EARLY  FAITH. 

WHOM  hear  we  tell  of  all  the  joy  which 
loving  Faith  can  bring, 
The   ever- widening    glories    reached  on    her 

strong  seraph  wing  ? 
Is  it  not  oftenest  they  who  long  have  wrestled 

with  temptation, 
Or  passed  through  fiery  baptisms  of  mighty 
tribulation  ? 


78  The  MinisUy  of  Song. 

Perhaps,  in  life's  great  tapestry,  the  darkest 
scenes  are  where 

The  golden  threads  of  Faith  glance  forth  most 
radiant  and  fair ; 

And  gazing  on  the  coming  years,  which  un- 
known griefs  may  bring, 

We  hail  the  lamp  which  o'er  them  all  shall 
heavenly  lustre  fling. 

Thank  God !  there  is  at  eventide  a  gleam  of 

ruby  light, 
A  star  of  love  amid  the  gloom  of  sorrow's 

lingering  night, 
An  ivy-wreath  upon  the  tomb,  a  haven  in  the 

blast, 
A  staff  for  weary,  trembling  ones,  when  youth 

and  health  are  past. 

But  shall  we  seek  the  diamonds  in  the  lone 
and  dusky  mine. 

When  'mid  the  sunny  sands  oi youth  they  wait 
to  flash  and  shine? 

Neglect  the  fountain  of  Christ's  joy  till  woe- 
streams  darkly  flow. 

Nor  seek  a  Father's  smile  until  the  world's 
cold  frown  we  know  ? 


Ea7'ly  Faith.  79 


N  ay  !  be  our  faith  the  rosy  crown  on  morn's 
unwrinkled  brow, 

The  sparkling  dewdrop  on  the  grass,  the 
blossom  on  the  bough  ; 

The  gleam  of  pearly  light  within  the  snowy- 
bosomed  shell ; 

An  added  power  of  loveliness  in  beauty's  every 
spell. 

Oh,  let  it  be  the  sunlight  of  the  pleasant 
summer  hours. 

That  calls  to  pure  and  radiant  birth  un- 
numbered fragrant  flowers  ; 

That  bathes  in  golden  joyance  every  anthem- 
murmuring  tree, 

And  spreads  a  robe  of  glory  o'er  the  silver- 
crested  sea. 

Oh,  let  it  be  the  key-note  of  the  symphony  of 
gladness. 

Which  wots  not  of  the  broken  lyre,  the  re- 
quiem of  sadness  : 

For  they  who  melodies  of  heaven  in  hours  of 
brightness  know. 

Will  modulate  sweet  harmony  from  earth's 
discordant  woe. 


8o  The  Ministry  of  Song. 


OUR  FATHER. 

*  /^H  that  I  loved  the  Father 
V^     With  depth  of  conscious  love, 
As  stedfast,  bright,  and  burning. 

As  seraphim  above ! 
But  how  can  I  be  deeming 

Myself  a  loving  child, 
When  here,  and  there,  and  eveiywhere, 

My  thoughts  are  wandering  wild  ? 

■'•  It  is  my  chief  desire 

To  know  Him  more  and  more, 
To  follow  Him  more  fully 

Than  I  have  done  before  : 
My  eyes  are  dim  with  longing 

To  see  the  Lord  above ; 
But  oh  I  I  fear  from  year  to  year, 

I  do  not  truly  love. 


*  For  when  I  try  to  follow 
The  mazes  of  my  soul, 

I  find  no  settled  fire  of  love 
Illumining  the  whole  ; 


Our  Father.  S  i 


'T  is  all  uncertain  twilight, 

No  clear  and  vivid  glow  : 
Would  I  could  bring  to  God  my  King 

The  perfect  love  I  owe  ! ' 

The  gift  is  great  and  holy, 

'T  will  not  be  sought  in  vain  ; 
But  look  up  for  a  moment 

From  present  doubt  and  pain, 
And  calmly  tell  me  how  you  love 

The  dearest  ones  below  ? 
'  This  love, '  say  you,  *  is  deep  and  true  •' 

But  tell  me  how  you  know  ? 

How  do  you  love  your  father  ? 

'  Oh,  in  a  thousand  ways  ! 
I  think  there's  no  one  like  him, 

So  worthy  of  my  praise. 
I  tell  him  all  my  troubles. 

And  ask  him  what  to  do  ; 
I  know  that  he  will  give  to  me 

His  counsel  kind  and  tine. 

'  Then  every  little  service 

Of  hand,  or  pen,  or  voicoj 
Becomes,  if  he  has  asked  it, 

The  sei"vice  of  my  choice 


The  Ministry  of  Song. 

And  from  my  own  desires 

'T  is  not  so  hard  to  part, 
If  once  I  know  I  follow  so 

His  wiser  will  and  heart. 

*  I  know  the  flush  of  pleasure 

That  o'er  my  spirit  came, 
When  far  from  home  with  strangcis, 

They  caught  my  father's  name  ; 
And  for  his  sake  the  greeting 

Was  mutual  and  sweet, 
For  if  they  knew  my  father  too, 

How  glad  we  were  to  meet ! 

*  And  when  I  heard  them  praising 

His  music  and  his  skill, 
His  words  of  holy  teaching. 

Life-preaching,  holier  still. 
How  eagerly  I  listened 

To  every  word  that  fell ! 
'T  was  joy  to  hear  that  name  so  dear 

Both  known  and  loved  so  well. 

'  Once  I  was  ill  and  suffering 

Upon  a  foreign  shore. 
And  longed  to  see  my  father, 

As  I  never  longed  before. 


Our  FatJie}'.  83 


He  came  :  his  arm  around  me  ; 

I  leant  upon  his  breast ; 
I  did  not  long  to  feel  more  strong, 

So  sweet  that  childlike  rest. 

*  The  thought  of  home  is  pleasant, 

Yet  I  should  hardly  care 
To  leave  my  present  fair  abode, 

Unless  I  knew  him  there. 
All  other  love  and  pleasure 

Can  never  crown  the  place, 
A  home  to  me  it  cannot  be 

Without  my  father's  face.' 

This  is  no  fancy  drawing, 

But  every  line  is  tiTie, 
And  you  have  traced  as  strong  a  love 

As  ever  daughter  knew. 
But  though  its  fond  expression 

Is  rather  lived  than  told. 
You  do  not  say  from  day  to  day, 

*  I  fear  my  love  is  cold  ! ' 

You  do  not  think  about  it; 

'T  is  never  in  your  thought — 
'  I  wonder  if  I  love  him 

As  deeply  as  I  ought  ? 


84  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

I  know  his  approbation 

Outweighs  all  other  meed, 
That  his  employ  is  always  joy, 

But  do  I  love  indeed  ? ' 

Now  let  your  own  words  teach  you 

The  higher,  holier  claim 
Of  Him,  who  condescends  to  bear 

A  Father's  gracious  name. 
No  mystic  inspiration. 

No  throbbings  forced  and  wild 
He  asks,  but  just  the  loving  trust 

Of  a  glad  and  grateful  child. 

The  rare  and  precious  moments 

Of  realizing  thrill 
Are  but  love's  blissful  blossom, 

To  brighten,  not  to  fill 
The  storehouse  and  the  garner 

With  ripe  and  pleasant  fruit ; 
And  not  alone  by  these  is  shown 

The  true  and  holy  root. 

What  if  your  own  dear  father 
Were  summoned  to  his  rest ! 

One  lives,  by  whom  that  bitterest  grief 
Could  well  be  soothed  and  blessed. 


Our  Father.  85 


Like  balm  upon  your  sharpest  woe 
His  still  small  voice  would  fall ; 

His  touch  would  heal,  you  could  not  feel 
I'hat  you  had  lost  your  all. 

But  what  if  He,  the  Lord  of  life, 

Could  ever  pass  away  ! 
What  if  His  name  were  blotted  out, 

And  you  could  know  to-day 
There  was  no  heavenly  Father, 

No  Saviour  dear  and  true, 
No  throne  of  grace,  no  resting-place, 

No  living  God  for  you  ! 

We  need  not  dwell  in  horror 

On  what  can  never  be. 
Such  endless  desolation, 

Such  undreamt  misery. 
Our  reason  could  not  bear  it, 

And  all  the  love  of  earth. 
In  fullest  bliss,  compared  with  this, 

Were  nothing,  nothing  worth. 

Then  bring  your  poor  affection, 

And  try  it  by  this  test ; 
The  hidden  depth  is  fathomed, 

You  see  you  love  Him  best ! 


86  The  Ministry  of  Song. 


'T  is  but  a  feeble  echo 

Of  His  great  love  to  you, 
Yet  in  His  ear  each  note  is  dear, 

Its  harmony  is  true. 

It  is  an  uncut  jewel, 

All  earth-encrusted  now, 
But  He  will  make  it  glorious. 

And  set  it  on  His  brow  : 
'Tis  but  a  tiny  glimmer, 

Lit  from  the  light  above, 
But  it  shall  blaze  through  endless  days, 

A  star  of  perfect  love. 


DISAPPOINTMENT. 

OUR  yet  unfinished  story 
Is  tending  all  to  this  : 
To  God  the  greatest  glory, 
To  us  the  greatest  bliss. 

If  all  things  work  together 
For  ends  so  grand  and  blest, 


Dhappointinent.  87 


What  need  to  wonder  whether 
Each  in  itself  is  best  ! 

If  some  things  were  omitted 

Or  altered  as  we  would, 
The  whole  might  be  unfitted 

To  work  for  perfect  good. 

Our  plans  may  be  disjointed, 

But  we  may  calmly  rest ; 
What  God  has  once  appointed 

Is  better  than  our  best. 

We  cannot  see  before  us. 

But  our  all-seeing  Friend 
Is  always  watching  o'er  us, 

And  knows  the  very  end. 

What  though  we  seem  to  stumble  ? 

He  will  not  let  us  fall ; 
And  learning  to  be  humble 

Is  not  lost  time  at  all. 

What  though  we  fondly  reckoned 

A  smoother  way  to  go 
Than  where  His  hand  has  beckoned  ? 

It  will  be  better  so. 


The  Ministry  of  Song. 


What  only  seemed  a  barrier 
A  stepping-stone  shall  be  ; 

Our  God  is  no  long  tarrier, 
A  present  help  is  He. 

And  when  amid  our  blindness 
His  disappointments  fall, 

We  trust  His  loving-kindness 
Whose  wisdom  sends  them  all. 

They  are  the  purple  fringes 
That  hide  His  glorious  feet ; 

They  are  the  fire-wrought  hinges 
Where  truth  and  mercy  meet ; 

By  them  the  golden  portal 
Of  Providence  shall  ope, 

And  lift  to  praise  immortal 
The  songs  of  faith  and  hope. 

From  broken  alabaster 

Was  deathless  fragrance  shed, 
The  spikenard  flowed  the  faster 

Upon  the  Saviour's  head. 

No  shattered  box  of  ointment 
We  ever  need  regret. 


Disappoiiitment.  89 


For  out  of  disappointment 
Flow  sweetest  odours  yet. 

The  discord  that  involveth 
Some  startling  change  of  key. 

The  Master's  hand  resolveth 
In  richest  harmony. 

We  hush  our  children's  laughter, 
When  sunset  hues  grow  pale  ; 

Then,  in  the  silence  after, 
They  hear  the  nightingale. 

We  mourned  the  lamp  declining, 
That  glimmered  at  our  side  ; — 

The  glorious  starlight  shining 
Has  proved  a  surer  guide. 

Then  tremble  not  and  shrink  not 
When  Disappointment  nears ; 

Be  trustful  still,  and  think  not 
To  realize  all  fears. 

While  we  are  meekly  kneeling. 
We  shall  behold  her  rise, 

Our  Father's  love  revealing, 
An  angel  in  disguise. 


90  The  Ministry  of  Song. 


THE  SONG  CHALICE. 

*  T  7017  bear  the  chalice.'    Is  it  so,  my  friend  ? 
JL     Have  I  indeed  a  chalice  of  sweet  song, 
With  underflow  of  harmony  made  strong 
New  calm  of  strength  through  throbbing  veins 

to  send? 
I  did  not  form  or  fill, — I  do  but  spend 

That  which  the  Master  poured  into   my 

soul. 
His  dewdrops  caught  in   a  poor  earthen 
bowl, 
That  service  so  with  praise  might  meekly  blend. 
May  He  who  taught  the  morning  stars  to  sing, 
Aye  keep  my  chalice  cool,  and  pure,  and 
sweet. 
And  grant  me  so  with  loving  hand  to  bring 

Refreshment  to  His  weary  ones, —  to  meet 
Their   thirst   with   water  from   God's   music- 
spring  ; 
And,  bearing  thus,  to  pour  it  at  His  feet. 


Silent  i7i  Love.  91 


SILENT  IN  LOVE. 

*  HE  WILL  REST^  IN  HIS  LOVE.' 

LOVE   culminates   in  bliss   when  it   doth 
reach 
A    white,    unflickering,    fear-consuming 

glow ; 
And,  knowing  it  is  known  as  it  doth  know, 
Needs  no  assuring  word  or  soothing  speech. 
It  craves  but  silent  nearness,  so  to  rest, 

No  sound,  no  movement,  love  not  heard 

but  felt, 
Longer  and  longer  still,  till  time  should 
melt, 
A  snow-flake  on  the  eternal  ocean's  breast. 
Have  moments  of  this  silence  starred  thy 
past, 
JMade  memory  a  glory-haunted  place, 
Taught  all  the  joy  that  mortal  ken  can  trace  ? 
By  greater  light 't  is  but  a  shadow  cast  ; — 
So  shall  the  Lord  thy  God  rejoice  o'er  thee, 
And  in  His  love  will  rest,  and  silent  be. 

*  Marginal  reading — ' be  silent.'' 


92  The  Ministry  of  Song. 


LIGHT  AND  SHADE. 

LIGHT  !  emblem  of  all  good  and  joy  ! 
Shade  !  emblem  of  all  ill ! 
And  yet  in  this  strange  mingled  life, 

We  need  the  shadow  still. 
A  lamp  with  softly  shaded  light, 
To  soothe  and  spare  the  tender  sight, 
Will  only  throw 
A  brighter  glow 
Upon  our  books  and  work  below. 

We  could  not  bear  unchanging  day, 

However  fair  its  light ; 
Ere  long  the  wearied  eye  would  hail. 
As  boon  untold,  the  evening  pale, 

The  solace  of  the  night. 
And  who  would  prize  our  summer  glow 
If  winter  gloom  we  did  not  know  ? 

Or  rightly  praise 

The  glad  spring  rays 
Who  never  saw  our  rainy  days  ? 

How  grateful  in  Arabian  plain 
Of  white  and  sparkling  sand, 


Light  a7id  Shade.  93 

The  shadow  of  a  mighty  rock 

Across  the  weary  land  ! 
And  where  the  tropic  glories  rise, 
Responsive  to  the  fiery  skies, 

We  could  not  dare 

To  meet  the  glare, 
Or  blindness  were  our  bitter  share. 

Where  is  the  soul  so  meek  and  pure, 

Who  through  his  earthly  days 
Life's  fullest  sunshine  could  endure, 

In  clear  and  cloudless  blaze  ! 
The  sympathetic  eye  would  dim, 
And  others  pine  unmarked  by  him, 
Were  no  chill  shade 
Around  him  laid, 
And  light  of  joy  could  never  fade. 

He,  who  the  light-commanding  word 

Erst  spake,  and  formed  the  eye, 
Knows  what  that  wondrous  eye  can  bear, 
And  tempers  with  providing  care. 
By  cloud  and  night,  all  hurtful  glare, 

By  shadows  ever  nigh. 
So  in  all  wise  and  loving  ways 
He  blends  the  shadows  of  our  days. 


94  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

To  win  our  sight 
From  scenes  of  night, 
To  seek  the  'True  and  Only  Light.' 

We  need  some  shadow  o'er  our  bliss, 

Lest  we  forget  the  Giver  : 
So,  often  in  our  deepest  joy 

There  comes  a  solemn  quiver  ; 
We  could  not  tell  from  whence  it  came, 
The  subtle  cause  we  cannot  name  ; 
Its  twilight  fall 
May  well  recall 
Calm  thought  of  Him  who  gave  us  all. 

There  are  who  all  undazzled  tread 

Awhile  the  sunniest  plain  ; 
But  they  have  sought  the  blessed  shade 
By  one  great  Rock  of  Ages  made, 

A  sure,  safe  rest  to  gain. 

Unshaded  light  of  earth  soon  blinds 

To  light  of  heaven  sincerest  minds  t 

O  envy  not 

A  cloudless  lot ! 

We  ask  indeed  we  know  not  what. 

So  is  it  here,  so  is  it  now  ! 
Not  always  will  it  be  ! 


No  Thorn  without  a  Rose.         95 

There  is  a  land  that  needs  no  shade, 
A  mom  will  rise  which  cannot  fade, 
And  we,  like  flame-robed  angels  made, 

That  glory  soon  may  see. 
No  cloud  upon  its  radiant  joy. 
No  shadow  o'er  its  bright  employ, 
No  sleep,  no  night. 
But  perfect  sight. 
The  Lord  our  Everlasting  Light. 


NO   THORN  WITHOUT  A  ROSE. 

THERE  is  no  rose  without  a  thorn  ! ' 
Who  has  not  found  this  true. 
And  known  that  griefs  of  gladness  born 
Our  footsteps  still  pursue  ? 

That  in  the  grandest  harmony 
The  strangest  discords  rise ; 

The  brightest  bow  we  only  trace 
Upon  the  darkest  skies  ! 


95  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

No  thomless  rose  !     So,  more  and  more, 

Our  pleasant  hopes  are  laid 
Where  waves  this  sable  legend  o'er 

A  still  sepulchral  shade. 

But  Faith  and  Love,  with  angel-might, 
Break  up  life's  dismal  tomb, 

Transmuting  into  golden  light 
The  words  of  leaden  gloom. 

Reversing  all  this  funeral  pall, 
White  raiment  they  disclose  ; 

Their  happy  song  floats  full  and  lonr, 
'  No  thorn  without  a  rose  ! ' 

*  No  shadow,  but  its  sister  light 

Not  far  away  must  burn  ! 
No  weary  night,  but  morning  bright 
Shall  follow  in  its  turn. 

*  No  chilly  snow,  but  safe  below 

A  million  buds  are  sleeping  ; 
No  wintry  days,  but  fair  spring  rays 
Are  swiftly  onward  sweeping. 

*  With  fiercest  glare  of  summer  air 

Comes  fullest  leafy  shade  ; 


No  Thorn  ivithojit  a  Rose.  (^y 

And  ruddy  fruit  bends  every  shoot, 
Because  the  blossoms  fade. 

*  No  note  of  sorrow  but  shall  melt 

In  sweetest  chord  unguessed ; 
No  labour  all  too  pressing  felt, 
But  ends  in  quiet  rest. 

'  No  sigh  but  from  the  harps  above 
Soft  echoing  tones  shall  win  ; 

No  heart-wound  but  the  Lord  of  Love 
Shall  pour  His  comfort  in. 

'  No  withered  hope,  while  loving  best 

Thy  Father's  chosen  way ; 
No  anxious  care,  for  He  will  bear 

Thy  burdens  every  day. 

*  Thy  claim  to  rest  on  Jesu's  breact 

All  weariness  shall  be, 
And  pain  thy  portal  to  His  heart 
Of  boundless  sympathy. 

*  No  conflict,  but  the  King's  own  hand 

Shall  end  the  glorious  strife ; 
No  death,  but  leads  thee  to  the  land 
Of  everlasting  life.' 

G 


98  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

Sweet  seraph  voices,  Faith  and  Love ! 

Sing  on  within  our  hearts 
This  strain  of  music  from  above, 

Till  we  have  learnt  our  parts  : 

Until  we  see  your  alchemy 
On  all  that  years  disclose, 

And,  taught  by  you,  still  find  it  true, 
'  No  thorn  without  a  rose  ! ' 


YESTERDAY,   TO-DAY,  AND 
FOR  EVER. 


A   GREEK   ACROSTIC,    THRICE   TRIPLED. 
As/.^ 


A 


H  !  the  weary  cares  and  fears, 
E  arnest  yearnings  through  the  years  ! 
I    s  it  not  a  vale  of  tears  ? 

A  h  !  the  love  we  gladly  greet 
E  ver  now  is  incomplete  ; 
I    f  the  melody  be  sweet, 

^  For  ever. 


Yesterday,  To-day,  and  for  Ever.    99 

A  nd  the  harmony  be  true, 

E  arlier  loss  is  more  in  view, 

I    11  forebodings  shadow  through. 

A  fter  wintry  frost  and  rime, 
E  ven  now,  the  heavenly  chime 
I    s  a  pledge  of  summer  time. 

A  nchorage  within  the  veil, 
E  ver  stedfast,  cannot  fail, 
I    f  the  wildest  storms  assail. 

A  ngel  songs  of  love  are  clearer, 
E  arth  is  brighter,  death  is  dearer, 
I    f  the  heavenly  home  be  nearer. 

A  11  in  perfect  union  brought, 

E  very  link  which  God  has  wrought 

I    n  the  chains  of  loving  thought : 

A  11  our  dear  ones,  far  asunder, 

E  ach  shall  join  the  anthem-thunder 

I    n  our  future  joy  and  wonder. 

A  11   shall   come   where  nought   shall 

sever, 
E  ndless  meeting,  parting  never, 
I    n  God's  house  to  dwell  for  ever. 


loo  The  Ministry  of  Song. 


CHRIST'S  RECALL. 

RETURN ! 
O  wanderer  from  my  side  ! 

Soon  droops  each  blossom  of  the  darkening 
wild, 

Soon  melts  each  meteor  which  thy  steps  be- 
guiled, 

Soon  is  the  cistern  dry  which  thou  hast  hewn, 

And  thou  wilt  weep  in  bitterness  full  soon. 

Return  !   ere  gathering  night  shall  shroud  the 
way 

Thy  footsteps  yet  may  tread,  in  this  accepted 
day. 

Return ! 
O  erring,  yet  beloved  ! 
I  wait  to  bind  thy  bleeding  feet,  for  keen 
And  rankling  are  the  thorns  where  thou  hast 

been; 
I  wait  to  give  thee  pardon,  love,  and  rest ; 
Is  not  My  joy  to  see  thee  safe  and  blest  ? 
Return  !   I  wait  to  hear  once  more  thy  voice, 
To  welcome  thee  anew,  and  bid  thy  heart  re- 
joice. 


Christ's  Recall.  loi 

Return ! 
O  fallen,  yet  not  lost ! 
Canst  thou  forget  the  life  for  thee  laid  down, 
Tlie  taunts,    the   scourging,    and   the   thorny 

crown  ? 
When  o'er  thee  first  My  spotless  robe  I  spread, 
And  poured  the  oil  of  joy  upon  thy  head, 
How  did  thy  wakening  heart  within  thee  burn  ! 
Canst  thou  remember  all,  and  wilt  thou  not 

return  ? 

Return ! 
O  chosen  of  My  love  ! 
Fear  not  to  meet  thy  beckoning   Saviour's 

view ; 
Long  ere  I  called  thee  by  thy  name,  I  knew 
That  very  treacherously  thou  wouldst  deal ; 
Now  I  have  seen  thy  ways,  yet  I  will  heal. 
Return  !     Wilt  thou  yet  linger  far  from  Me  ? 
My  wrath  is  turned  away,  I  have   redeemed 

thee. 


I02  The  Minis t?y  of  Song. 


FAITH'S  QUESTION. 

TO  whom,  O  Saviour,  shall  we  go 
For  life,  and  joy,  and  light  ? 
No  help,  no  comfort  from  below. 
No  lasting  gladness  we  may  know, 
No  hope  may  bless  our  sight. 
Our  souls  are  weary  and  athirst, 
But  earth  is  iron-bound  and  cursed, 
And  nothing  she  may  yield  can  stay 
The  restless  yearnings  day  by  day ; 
Yet,  without  Thee,  Redeemer  blest, 
We  would  not,  if  we  could,  find  rest. 

To  whom,  O  Saviour,  shall  we  go  ? 

We  gaze  around  in  vain. 
Though  pleasure's  fairy  lute  be  strung, 
And  mirth's  enchaining  lay  be  sung. 

We  dare  not  tmst  the  strain. 
The  touch  of  sorrow  or  of  sin 
Hath  saddened  all,  without,  within  ; 
What  here  we  fondly  love  and  prize, 
However  beauteous  be  its  guise. 
Has  passed,  is  passing,  or  may  pass, 
Like  irost -fringe  on  the  autumn  grass. 


Faith's  Question.  103 

To  whom,  O  Saviour,  shall  we  go  ? 

Our  spirits  dimly  wait 
In  the  dungeon  of  our  mortal  frame  ; 
And  only  one  of  direful  name 

Can  force  its  sin-barred  gate. 
Our  loved  ones  can  but  greet  us  through 
The  prison  grate,  from  which  we  view 
All  outward  things.     They  enter  not  : 
Thou,  Thou  alone,  canst  cheer  our  lot. 
O  Christ,  we  long  for  Thee  to  dwell 
Within  our  solitary  cell ! 

To  whom,  O  Saviour,  shall  we  go  ? 

Unless  Thy  voice  we  hear, 
All  tuneless  falls  the  sweetest  song, 
And  lonely  seems  the  busiest  throng 

Unless  we  feel  Thee  near. 
We  dare  not  think  what  earth  would  be. 
Thou  Heaven-Creator,  but  for  Thee  ; 
A  howling  chaos,  wild  and  dark — 
One  flood  of  horror,  while  no  ark, 
Upborne  above  the  gloom-piled  wave, 
From  one  great  death-abyss  might  save. 

To  whom,  O  Saviour,  shall  we  go  ? 
The  Tempter's  power  is  great ; 


I04  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

E'en  in  our  hearts  is  evil  bound, 
And,  lurking  stealthily  around, 

Still  for  our  souls  doth  wait. 
Thou  tempted  One,  whose  suffering  heart 
In  all  our  sorrows  bore  a  part, 
Whose  life-blood  only  could  atone, 
Too  weak  are  we  to  stand  alone ; 
And  nothing  but  Thy  shield  of  light 
Can  guard  us  in  the  dreaded  fight. 

To  whom,  O  Saviour,  shall  we  go  ? 

The  night  of  death  draws  near  ; 
Its  shadow  must  be  passed  alone. 
No  friend  can  with  our  souls  go  down 

The  untried  way  to  cheer. 
Thou  hast  the  words  of  endless  life  ; 
Thou  givest  victory  in  the  strife  ; 
Thou  only  art  the  changeless  Friend, 
On  whom  for  aye  we  may  depend  ; 
In  life,  in  death,  alike  we  flee, 
O  Saviour  of  the  world,  to  Theil 


I  did  this  for  Thee. 

105 

\ 
•  I  DID  THIS  FOR  THEE!  WHA  T  HAST 

THOU  DONE  FOR  ME  r 

{Motto  placed  wider  a  Picture  of  our  Saviour  in  the 

sttidy  of  a  German  divine.) 

T  GAVE  My  life  for  thee, 
1      My  precious  blood  I  shed, 

Gal.  ii.  20. 

I  Pet.  i.  19. 

That  thou  might'st  ransomed  be. 

Eph.  i.  7. 

And  quickened  from  the  dead. 

Eph.  ii.  I. 

I  gave  My  life  for  thee ; 

Tit  ii.  14. 

What  hast  thou  given  for  Me  ? 

Johnxxi.  15  17 

I  spent  long  years  for  thee 

1  Tim.  i.  15. 

In  v^^eariness  and  woe, 

Isa.  liii.  3. 

That  an  eternity 

John  xvii.  24. 

Of  joy  thou  mightest  know. 

John  xvi.  22. 

I  spent  long  years  for  thee  ; 

John  i.  10,  II. 

Hast  thou  spent  07ze  for  Me  ? 

I  Pet.  iv.  2. 

My  Father's  home  of  lignc, 

Johnxvii  5. 

My  rainbow-circled  throne, 

Rev.  iv.  3. 

I  left,  for  earthly  night. 

Phil.  ii.  7. 

For  wanderings  sad  and  lone. 

Matt.  vii.  CO, 

I  left  it  all  for  thee  ; 

2  Cor.  viii  9. 

Hast  thou  left  aught  for  Me  ? 

Luke  X.  .^9. 

io6  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

I  suffered  much  for  thee,  isa.  mi.  s 

More  than  thy  tongue  may  tell,  Matt.  xxvi.  35 

Of  bitterest  agony,  Luke  xxii.  4+ 

To  rescue  thee  from  hell.  Rom.  v.  9. 

I  suffered  much  for  thee  ;  ^  I'et.  ii.  21-2+ 

What  canst  thou  bear  for  Me  ?       Rom.viii.i7,ia 

And  I  have  brought  to  thee,  John  iv.  lo,  14. 

Down  from  My  home  above,  Johniii.  13. 

Salvation  full  and  free,  Rev.  xxi.  6. 

My  pardon  and  My  love.  ^ctsv.  31. 
Great  gifts  I  brought  to  thee 


Ps.  Ixviii.  18 


What  hast  thou  brought  to  Me 


>      Rom.  xii. 


Oh,  let  thy  life  be  given,  Rom.  vi.  13. 

Thy  years  for  Him  be  spent,  2  Cor.  v.  15. 

World-fetters  all  be  riven,  Phil.  Hi.  &. 

And  joy  vi^ith  suffering  blent  ;  i  Pet.  iv.  111 

I  gave  Myself  for  thee  :  Eph.  v.  2. 

Give  thou  thyself  to  Me  !  1^-^°^-  ''^'"  • 


Isaiah  XXXIII.  17.  107 


ISAIAH  XXXIII.  17. 

THINE  eyes  shall   see!    Yes,  thine,  who, 
blind  erewhile, 
Now  trembling  towards  the  new-found  light 
dost  flee, 
Leave   doubting,  and   look   up   with   trustful 
smile — 

Thine  eyes  shall  see  ! 

Thine  eyes   shall   see  !     Not  in  some  dream 
Elysian, 
Not  in  thy  fancy,  glowing  though  it  be. 
Not  e'en  in  faith,  but  in  unveiled  vision. 

Thine  eyes  shall  see  ! 

Thine  eyes  shall  see  !  Not  on  thyself  depend 

God's  promises,  the  faithful,  firm,  and  free  ; 
Ere  they  shall  fail,  earth,  heaven  itself,  must 
end : 

Thine  eyes  shall  see  ! 

Thine  eyes  shall  see  !    Not  in  a  swift  glance 
cast. 
Gleaning  one  ray  to  brighten  memory. 
But  while  a  glad  eternity  shall  last, 

Thine  eyes  shall  see! 


io8  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

Thine  eyes  shall  see  the  King  !  The  very  same 
Whose  love  shone  forth  upon  the  curseful 
tree, 
Who  bore  thy  guilt,  who  calleth  thee  by  name  ; 
Thine  eyes  shall  see  ! 

Thine   eyes  shall  see  the  King!  the  mighty 
One, 
The    many  -  crowned,    the   Light-enrobed  ; 
and  He 
Shall  bid  thee  share  the  kingdom  He  hath 
won, 

Thine  eyes  shall  see  ! 

And  in  His  beauty!  Stay  thee,  mortal  song. 

The  *  altogether  lovely '  One  must  be 
Unspeakable  in  glory, — yet  ere  long 

Thine  eyes  shall  see  ! 

Yes  !  though  the  land  be  '  very  far '  away, 

A  step,  a  moment,  ends  the  toil  for  thee  ; 
Then,  changing  grief  for  gladness,  night  for 
day, 

Thine  eyes  shall  see  1 


God  the  Provider.  109 


GOD  THE  PROVIDER. 

*  Lly  God  shall  supply  all  your  need,  according  to  His 
riches  in  glory  by  Christ  Jesus.' 


w 


HO  shall  tell  our  untold  need, 
Deeply  felt,  though  scarcely  known ! 
Who  the  hungering  soul  can  feed. 

Guard,  and  guide,  but  God  alone  ? 
Blessed  promise  !  while  we  see 
Eartlily  friends  must  powerless  be, 
Earthly  fountains  quickly  dry  : 
*  God''  shall  all  your  need  supply. 

He  hath  said  it !  so  we  know 

Nothing  less  can  we  receive. 
Oh  that  thankful  love  may  glow 

While  we  restfully  believe, — 
Ask  not  how,  but  trust  Him  still  j 
Ask  not  when,  but  wait  His  will : 
Simply  on  His  word  rely, 
God  '  shall '  all  your  need  supply. 

Through  the  whole  of  life's  long  way, 
Outward,  inward  need  we  trace  : 


i  lo  T/ie  Ministry  of  Song. 

Need  arising  day  by  day, 

Patience,  wisdom,  strength,  and  grace. 
Needing  Jesus  most  of  all, 
Full  of  need,  on  Him  we  call ; 
Then  how  gracious  His  reply, 
God  shall  ^  aW  your  need  supply  ! 

Great  our  need,  but  greater  far 
Is  our  Father's  loving  power ; 

He  upholds  each  mighty  star, 
He  unfolds  each  tiny  flower. 

He  who  numbers  every  hair, 

Earnest  of  His  faithful  care. 

Gave  His  Son  for  us  to  die ; 

God  shall  all  ^ your''  need  supply. 

Yet  we  often  vainly  plead 

For  a  fancied  good  denied, 
What  we  deemed  a  pressing  need 

Still  remaining  unsupplied. 
Yet  from  dangers  all  concealed, 
Thus  our  wisest  Friend  doth  shield  ; 
No  good  thing  will  He  deny, 
God  shall  all  your  '  need '  supply. 

Can  we  count  redemption's  treasure, 
Scan  the  glory  of  God's  love  ? 


Wait  Patiently  for  Him.         1 1 1 

Such  shall  be  the  boundless  measure 

Of  His  blessings  from  above. 
All  we  ask  or  think,  and  more, 
He  will  give  in  bounteous  store  , 
He  can  fill  and  satisfy, 
God  shall  all  your  need  '  supply. '  ^ 

One  the  channel,  deep  and  broad, 

From  the  Fountain  of  the  Thi-one, 
Christ  the  Saviour,  Son  of  God, 

Blessings  flow  through  Him  alone. 
He,  the  Faithful  and  the  True, 
Brings  us  mercies  ever  new  : 
Till  we  reach  His  home  on  high, 
'  God  shall  all  your  need  supply. ' 


WAIT  PATIENTLY  FOR  HIM. 

GOD  doth  not  bid  thee  wait 
To  disappoint  at  last ; 

'  The  Greek  word  is  much  stronger  than  the  Enjj- 
lish, — T'Kr,pit(ni — 'will  supply  to  the  full,'  'fill  up,' 
'satisfy.' 


IT2  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

A  golden  promise,  fair  and  great, 
In  precept-mould  is  cast. 
Soon  shall  the  morning  gild 
The  dark  horizon-rim, 

Thy  heart's  desire  shall  be  fulfilled, 

*  Wait  patiently  for  Him. ' 

The  weary  waiting  times 
Are  but  the  muflfled  peals 

Low  preluding  celestial  chimes, 
That  hail  His  chariot-wheels. 
Trust  Him  to  tune  thy  voice 
To  blend  with  seraphim  ; 

His  *  Wait '  shall  issue  in  *  Rejoice  ! ' 

*  Wait  patiently  for  Him. ' 

He  doth  not  bid  thee  wait. 
Like  drift-wood  on  the  wave. 

For  fickle  chance  or  fixed  fate 
To  ruin  or  to  save. 
Thine  eyes  shall  surely  see. 
No  distant  hope  or  dim, 

The  Lord  thy  God  arise  for  thee  s 
'  Wait  patiently _/i7r  Him^ 


This  Same  Jesus.  i  t  3 


THIS  SAME  JESUS. 
Acts  i.  ii. 

THIS  same  Jesus  ! '     Oh  !  how  sweetly 
Fall  those  words  upon  the  ear, 
Like  a  swell  of  far  off  music, 
In  a  nightwatch  still  and  drear  ! 

He  who  healed  the  hopeless  leper, 
He  who  dried  the  widow's  tear ; 

He  who  changed  to  health  and  gladness 
Helpless  suffering,  trembling  fear ; 

He  who  wandered,  poor  and  homeless, 

By  the  stormy  Galilee  ; 
He  who  on  the  night-robed  mountain 

Bent  in  prayer  the  wearied  knee  ; 

He  who  spake  as  none  had  spoken, 

Angel- wisdom  far  above. 
All-forgiving,  ne'er  upbraiding, 

Full  of  tenderness  and  love  ; 

He  who  gently  called  the  weary, 
*  Come  and  I  will  give  you  rest  I ' 
ii 


1 14  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

He  who  loved  the  little  children, 
Took  them  in  His  arms  and  blest ; 

He,  the  lonely  Man  of  Sorrows, 
'Neath  our  sin-curse  bending  low  ; 

By  His  faithless  friends  forsaken 
In  the  darkest  hours  of  woe  ; — 

'  This  same  Jesus  1 '     When  the  vision 
Of  that  last  and  awful  day 

Bursts  upon  the  prostrate  spirit, 
Like  a  midnight  lightning  ray ; 

When,  else  dimly  apprehended, 
All  its  terrors  seem  revealed. 

Trumpet-knell  and  fiery  heavens, 
And  the  books  of  doom  unsealed  ; 

Then,  we  lift  our  hearts  adoring 

'This  same  Jesus,'  loved  and  known, 

Him,  our  own  most  gracious  Saviour, 
Seated  on  the  great  white  Throne  ; 

He  Himself,  and  'not  another,' 

He  for  whom  our  heart-love  yearned 

Through  long  years  of  twilight  waiting, 
To  His  ransomed  ones  returned  ! 


Marfs  Birthday.  115 

For  this  word,  O  Lord,  we  bless  Thee, 
Bless  our  Master's  changeless  name  ; 

Yesterday,  to-day,  for  ever, 
Jesus  Christ  is  still  the  Same. 


MAR  Y  'S  BIR  THDA  Y, 

SHE  is  at  rest. 
In  God's  own  presence  blest, 
Whom,  while  with  us,  this  day  we  loved  to 
greet ; 
Her  birthdays  o'er. 
She  counts  the  years  no  more  ; 
Time's  footfall  is  not  heard  along  the  golden 
street. 

"When  we  would  raise 
A  hymn  of  birthday  praise. 
The  music  of  our  hearts  is  faint  and  low  ; 
Fear,  doubt,  and  sin 
Make  dissonance  within ; 
And  pure  soul-melody  no  child  of  earth  may 
know. 


1 1 6  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

That  strange  *  new  song,' 
Amid  a  white-robed  throng, 
Is  gushing  from  her  harp  in  living  tone  ; 
Her  seraph  voice, 
Tuned  only  to  rejoice, 
Floats  upward  to  the  emerald-arched  throne.  * 

No  passing  cloud 
Her  loveliness  may  shroud, 
The  beauty  of  her  youth  may  never  fade; 
No  line  of  care 
Her  sealed  brow  may  wear, 
The  joy-gleam  of  her  eye  no  dimness  e'er  may 
shade. 

No  stain  is  there 
Upon  the  robes  they  wear. 
Within  the  gates  of  pearl  which  she  hath 
passed  ; 
Like  woven  light. 
All  beautiful  and  bright. 
Eternity  upon  those  robes  no  shade  may  cast. 

No  sin-born  thought 
May  in  that  home  be  wrought, 
To  trouble  the  clear  fountain  of  her  heart ; 

*  Rev.  iv.  3. 


Mary's  Birthday.  1 17 

No  tear,  no  sigh, 
No  pain,  no  death,  be  nigh 
Where  she  hath  entered  in,  no  more  to  '  knov/ 
in  part. ' 

Her  faith  is  sight, 
Her  hope  is  full  delight. 
The  shadowy  veil  of  time  is  rent  in  twain  : 
Her  untold  bliss — 
What  thought  can  follow  this  ! 
To  her  to  live  was  Christ,  to  die  indeed  is  gain. 

Her  eyes  have  seen 
The  King,  no  veil  between. 
In  blood-dipped  vesture  gloriously  arrayed  i 
No  earth-breathed  haze 
Can  dim  that  rapturous  gaze  ; 
She  sees  Him  face  to  face  on  whom  her  guilt 
was  laid. 

A  little  while. 
And  they  whose  loving  smile 
Had  melted  'neath  the  touch  of  lonely  woe. 
Shall  reach  her  home. 
Beyond  the  star-built  dome  ; 
Her  anthem  they  shall  swell,  her  joy  they  too 
shall  know. 


1 8  The  Ministry  of  Song. 


DAILY  STRENGTH. 

*    A    S  thy  day  thy  strength  shall  be  ! ' 
l\.     This  should  be  enough  for  thee  ; 
He  who  knows  thy  frame  will  spare 
Burdens  more  than  thou  canst  bear. 

When  thy  days  are  veiled  in  night, 
Christ  shall  give  thee  heavenly  light ; 
Seem  they  wearisome  and  long, 
Yet  in  Him  thou  shalt  be  strong. 

Cold  and  wintry  though  they  prove-. 
Thine  the  sunshine  of  His  love  ; 
Or,  with  fervid  heat  oppressed, 
In  His  shadow  thou  shalt  rest. 

When  thy  days  on  earth  are  past, 
Christ  shall  call  thee  home  at  last, 
His  redeeming  love  to  praise, 
Who  hath  strengthened  all  thy  days. 


The  Right  Way.  1 19 


THE  RIGHT  WA  Y. 

LORD,  is  it  still  the  right  way,  though  I 
cannot  see  Thy  face, 
Though  I  do  not  feel  Thy  presence  and  Thine 

all- sustaining  grace? 
Can  even  this  be  leading  through  the  bleak 

and  sunless  wild 
To  the  City  of  Thy  holy  rest,  the  mansions 
undefiled? 


Lord,  is  it  still  the  right  way  ?     A  while  ago  I 

passed 
Where  every  step  seemed  thornier  and  harder 

than  the  last ; 
Where  bitterest  disappointment  and  inly  aching 

sorrow 
Carved  day  by  day  a  weary  cross,   renewed 

with  every  morrow. 

The  heaviest  end  of  that  strange  cross  I  knew 

was  laid  on  Thee  ; 
So  I  could  still  press  on,  secure  of  Thy  deep 

sympathy. 


1 20  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

Our  upward  path  may  well  be  steep,  else  how 

were  patience  tried? 
I  knew  it  was  the  right  way,  for  it  led  me  to 

Thy  side. 

But  now  I  wait  alone  amid  dim  shadows  dank 

and  chill ; 
All  moves  and  changes  round  me,  but  I  seem 

standing  still ; 
Or  every  feeble  footstep  I  urge  towards  the 

light 
Seems  but  to  lead  me  farther  into  the  silent 

night. 

I  cannot  hear  Thy  voice.   Lord  !  dost  Thou 

still  hear  my  cry  ? 
I  cling  to  Thine  assurance  that  Thou  art  ever 

nigh; 
I  know  that  Thou  art  faithful ;  I  trust,  but 

cannot  see 
That  it  is  still  the  right  way  by  which  Thou 

leadest  me. 

1  think  I  could  go  forward  with  brave  and 
joyful  heart, 

Though  every  step  should  pierce  me  with  un- 
known fiery  smart, 


The  Right  Way.  121 

If  only  I  might  see  Thee,   if  I  might  gaze 

above 
On  all  the  cloudless  glory  of  the  sunshine  of 

Thy  love. 

Is    it    really    leading    onwards?      When    the 

shadows  flee  away, 
Shall  I  find  this  path  has  brought  me  more 

near  to  perfect  day  ? 
Or  am  I  left  to  wander  thus  that  I  may  stretch 

my  hand 
To  some  still  wearier  traveller  in  this  same 

shadow-land? 

Is  this  thy  chosen  training  for  some  future  task 

unknown  ? 
Is  it  that  I  may  learn  to  rest  upon  Thy  word 

alone  ? 
Whate'er  it  be,  oh  !  leave  me  not,  fulfil  Thou 

every  hour 
The  purpose  of  Thy  goodness,  and  the  work 

of  faith  with  power. 

I  lay  my  prayer  before  Thee,  and,  trusting  in 

Thy  word, 
Though  all  is  silence  in  my  heart,  I  know  that 

Thou  hast  heard. 


122  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

To  that  blest  City  lead  me,  Lord  (still  choos- 
ing all  my  way), 

Where  faith  melts  into  vision  as  the  starlight 
into  day. 


THY  WILL  BE  DONE. 

'  Understanding  what  the  will  of  the  Lord  is.*— 
Eph.  v.  17. 

WITH  quivering  heart  and  trembling  will 
The  word  hath  passed  thy  lips, 
Within  the  shadow,  cold  and  still. 

Of  some  fair  joy's  eclipse. 
'  Thy  will  be  done  ! '  Thy  God  hath  heard. 
And  He  will  crown  that  faith-framed  word. 

Thy  prayer  shall  be  fulfilled  :  but  how? 

His  thoughts  are  not  as  thine  ; 
While  thou  wouldst  only  weep  and  bow, 

He  saith,  *  Arise  and  shine  ! ' 
Thy  thoughts  were  all  of  grief  and  night, 
But  His  of  boundless  joy  and  light. 


Thy  Will  be  Done.  123 

Thy  Father  reigns  supreme  above  : 

The  glory  of  His  name 
Is  Grace  and  Wisdom,  Trath  and  Love, 

His  will  must  be  the  same. 
And  thou  hast  asked  all  joys  in  one, 
In  whispering  forth,  *  Thy  will  be  done.' 

His  will — each  soul  to  sanctify 

Redeeming  might  hath  won  ;  ^ 
His  will — that  thou  shouldst  never  die, 

Believing  on  His  Son  j^ 
His  will — that  thou,  through  earthly  strife, 
Shouldst  rise  to  everlasting  life.^ 

That  one  unchanging  song  of  praise 
Should  from  our  hearts  arise  ;* 

That  we  should  know  His  wondrous  ways, 
Though  hidden  from  the  wise  ;  ^ 

That  we,  so  sinful  and  so  base, 

Should  know  the  glory  of  His  grace." 

His  will — to  grant  the  yearning  prayer 
For  dear  ones  far  away,^ 

^  I  Thess.  iv.  3.  ^  John  vi.  40.  3  John  vi.  39. 

«  I  Thess.  V.  18.  5  Matt.  xi.  25,  26. 

6  Eph.  i.  5,  6,  II,  12.     7  I  John  v.  14-16. 


124  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

That  they  His  grace  and  love  may  share, 

And  tread  His  pleasant  way  ; 
That  in  the  Father  and  the  Son 
All  perfect  we  may  be  in  one.^ 

His  will — the  little  flock  to  bring 

Into  His  royal  fold, 
To  reign  for  ever  with  their  King,^ 

His  beauty  to  behold.  ^ 
Sin's  fell  dominion  crushed  for  aye, 
Sorrow  and  sighing  fled  away. 

This  thou  hast  asked !     And  shall  the  prayer 

Float  upward  on  a  sigh  ? 
No  song  were  sweet  enough  to  bear 

Such  glad  desires  on  high  ! 
But  God  thy  Father  shall  fulfil, 
In  thee  and  for  thee,  all  His  will. 

>  John  xvii.  23,  24.      ^  Luke  xii.  32.      3  Isa.  xx.xiii.  \% 


The  Things  which  are  Behind.    1 2  5 


THE  THINGS   WHICH  ARE  BEHIND: 


L 


EAVE  behind  earth's  empty  pleasure, 
Fleeting  hope  and  changeful  love  ; 

Leave  its  soon-corroding  treasure  : 
There  are  better  things  above. 

Leave,  oh,  leave  thy  fond  aspirings, 
Bid  thy  restless  heart  be  still ; 

Cease,  oh  cease,  thy  vain  desirings. 
Only  seek  thy  Father's  will. 

Leave  behind  thy  faithless  sorrow, 
And  thine  every  anxious  care  ; 

He  who  only  knows  the  morrow 
Can  for  thee  its  burden  bear. 

Leave  behind  the  doubting  spirit, 
And  thy  crushing  load  of  sin  j 

By  thy  mighty  Saviour's  merit, 
Life  eternal  thou  shalt  win. 

Leave  the  darkness  gathering  o'er  thee, 
Leave  the  shadow-land  behind  ; 

Realms  of  glory  lie  before  thee  ; 
Enter  in,  and  welcome  find. 


126  The  Ministry  of  Song, 


'N 


*N0  w  I  see: 

John  ix.  25. 

OW  I  see  ! '     But  not  the  parting 

Of  the  melting  earth  and  sky, 
Not  a  vision  dread  and  startling, 
Forcing  one  despairing  cry. 
But  I  see  the  solemn  saying, 

All  have  sinned,  and  all  must  die  ; 
Holy  precepts  disobeying, 

Guilty  all  the  world  must  lie. 
Bending,  silenced,  to  the  dust, 
Now  I  see  that  God  is  just. 

*  Now  I  see  ! '     But  not  the  glory, 

Not  the  face  of  Him  I  love, 
Not  the  full  and  burning  story 

Of  the  mysteries  above. 
But  I  see  what  God  hath  spoken, 

How  His  well-beloved  Son 
Kept  the  laws  which  man  hath  broken. 

Died  for  sins  which  man  hath  done  ; 
Dying,  rising,  throned  above  ! 

*  Now  I  see '  that  God  is  Love. 


Everlasting  Love.  1 2  7 


EVERLASTING  LOVE. 

'  Yea,  I  have  loved  thee  with  an  everlasting  love,  i/iere- 
fore  with  loving-kindness  have  I  drawn  thee.'  '  No 
man  can  come  to  Me  except  the  Father  which  hath 
sent  Me  draw  him.' 


'r^  OD'S   everlasting  love  !     Wlmt  wouldst 
vJT         thou  more  ?  ' 

O  true  and  tender  friend,  well  hast  thou  spoken. 
My  heart  vi^as  restless,  weary,  sad,  and  sore, 
And  longed  and  listened  for  some  heaven-sent 

token  : 
And,  like  a  child  that  knows  not  why  it  cried, 
'Mid  God's  full  promises  it  moaned,  *  Unsatis- 
fied ! ' 


Yet  there  it  stands,    O  love  surpassing  thought, 
So  bright,    so   grand,    so  clear,    so   true,   so 

glorious  ; 
Love  infinite,  love  tender,  love  unsought, 
Love  changeless,  love  rejoicing,  love  victorious ! 
And  this  great  love  for  us  in  boundless  store  : 
God's  everlasting  love !    What  would  we  more  ? 


The  Ministry  of  Song. 


Yes,  one  thing  more !     To  know  it  ours  in- 
deed, 
To  add  the  conscious  joy  of  full  possession. 
O  tender  grace  that  stoops  to  every  need  ! 
This  everlasting  love  hath  found  expression 
In  loving-kindness,  which  hath  gently  drawn 
The  heart  that  else  astray  too  willingly  had 
gone. 

From  no  less  fountain  such  a  stream  could 

flow, 
No  other  root  could  yield  so  fair  a  flower  : 
Had  He  not  loved,  He  had  not  drawn  us  so  ; 
Had  He  not  drawn,  we  had  nor  will  nor  power 
To  rise,  to  come  ; — the  Saviour  had  passed  by 
Where  we  in  blindness  sat  without  one  care  or 

cry. 

We  thirst  for  God,  our  treasure  is  above  ; 
Earth  has  no  gift  our  one  desire  to  meet, 
And  that  desire  is  pledge  of  His  own  love. 
Sweet   question ;   with  no   answer !    oh  hoiv 

sweet  ! 
My  heart  in  chiming  gladness  o'er  and  o'er 
Sings   on; — 'God's  everlasting  love  1     What 

wouldst  thou  more  ? ' 


M 


*  Master^  Say  07i  P  129 


'MASTER,  SAY  ONT 

ASTER,  speak  !  Thy  servant  heareth, 
Waiting  for  Thy  gracious  word, 
Longing  for  Thy  voice  that  cheereth  ; 

Master  !  let  it  now  be  heard. 
I  am  listening,  Lord,  for  Thee  ; 
What  hast  Thou  to  say  to  me  ? 

Master,  speak  in  love  and  power  : 
Crown  the  mercies  of  the  day, 

In  this  quiet  evening  hour 
Of  the  moonrise  o'er  the  bay, 

With  the  music  of  Thy  voice  ; 

Speak  !  and  bid  Thy  child  rejoice. 

Often  through  my  heart  is  pealing 
Many  another  voice  than  Thine, 

Many  an  unwilled  echo  stealing 
From  the  walls  of  this  Thy  shrine : 

Let  Thy  longed-for  accents  fall ; 

Master,  speak  !  and  silence  all. 

Master,  speak  !  I  do  not  doubt  Ther;, 
Though  so  tearfully  I  plead  ; 


The  Ministry  of  Song. 


Saviour,  Shepherd !  Oh,  without  The<; 

Life  would  be  a  blank  indeed  ! 
But  I  long  for  fuller  light, 
Deeper  love,  and  clearer  sight. 

Resting  on  the  *  faithful  saying,' 
Trusting  what  Thy  gospel  saith, 

On  Thy  written  promise  staying 
All  my  hope  in  life  and  death. 

Yet  I  long  for  something  more 

From  Thy  love's  exhaustless  store. 

Speak  to  me  by  name,  O  Master, 

Let  me  know  it  is  to  me  ; 
Speak,  that  I  may  follow  faster. 

With  a  step  more  firm  and  free, 
Where  the  Shepherd  leads  the  flock, 
In  the  shadow  of  the  Rock. 


Master,  speak  !  I  kneel  before  Thee, 
Listening,  longing,  waiting  still ; 

Oh,  how  long  shall  I  implore  Thee 
This  petition  to  fulfil ! 

Hast  Thou  not  one  word  for  me  ? 

Must  my  prayer  unanswered  be  ? 


Remote  Results,  1 3 1 

Master,  speak  !  Though  least  and  lowest, 

Let  me  not  unheard  depart ; 
Master,  speak  !  for  oh,  Thou  knowest 

All  the  yearning  of  my  heart, 
Knowest  all  its  truest  need  ; 
Speak  !  and  make  me  blest  indeed. 

Master,  speak  !  and  make  me  ready, 
When  Thy  voice  is  truly  heard, 

With  obedience  glad  and  steady 
Still  to  follow  every  word. 

I  am  listening,  Lord,  for  Thee  ; 

Master,  speak,  oh,  speak  to  me  ! 


REMOTE  RESULTS. 

WHERE  are  the  countless  crystals, 
So  perfect  and  so  bright. 
That  robed  in  softest  ermine 
The  winter  day  and  night  ? 
Not  lost !  for,  life  to  many  a  root. 
They  rise  again  in  flower  and  fruit 


132  The  Ministry  of  Song. 


Where  are  the  mighty  forests, 

And  giant  ferns  of  old, 
That  in  primeval  silence 

Strange  leaf  and  frond  unrolled  ? 
Not  lost !  for  now  they  shine  and  blaze, 
I'he  light  and  warmth  of  Christmas  days 

Where  are  our  early  lessons, 

The  teachings  of  our  youth, 
Tne  countless  words  forgotten 
Of  knowledge  and  of  truth  ? 
Not  lost !  for  they  are  living  still, 
As  power  to  think,  and  do,  and  will. 

Where  is  the  seed  we  scatter, 

With  weak  and  trembling  hand. 
Beside  the  gloomy  waters. 
Or  on  the  arid  land  ? 
Not  lost !  for  after  many  days 
Our  prayer  and  toil  shall  turn  to  praise. 

Where  are  the  days  of  sorrow. 

And  lonely  hours  of  pain. 
When  work  is  intenupted. 

Or  planned  and  willed  in  vain  ? 
Not  lost !  it  is  the  thorniest  shoot 
That  bears  the  Master's  pleasant  fruit. 


On  the  Last  Leaf.  133 

Where,  where  are  all  God's  lessons, 

His  teachings  dark  or  bright  ? 
Not  lost  !  but  only  hidden, 
Till,  in  eternal  light, 
We  see,  while  at  His  feet  we  fall, 
The  reasons  and  results  of  all. 


ON  THE  LAST  LEAF} 

FINISHED  at  last ! 
Yet  for  five  years  past 
My  book  on  the  dusty  shelf  hath  lain, 
And  I  hardly  thought  that  ever  again 
My  thoughts  would  follow  the  pleasant  chime 
Of  musical  measure  and  ringing  rhyme. 

1  remember  well  when  I  laid  it  by, 
Closed  with  a  sort  of  requiem  sigh. 
Spring  in  her  beauty  had  swept  along, 
And  left  my  spirit  all  full  of  song  : 

'  Written  at  the  close  of  a  manuscript  voluiae. 


134  The  Ministry  of  Sojig. 

The  wakening  depths  of  my  heart  were  stirred, 
Voices  within  and  without  I  heard, 

Whispering  me 

That  I  might  be 
A  messenger  of  peace  and  pleasure  ; 

That  in  my  careless  minstrelsy 
Lay  something  of  poetic  treasure, 
Which,  wrought  with  care,  I  yet  some  day 
At  all  my  loved  ones'  feet  might  lay. 


Perhaps  't  was  a  vain  and  foolish  dream, 

A  fancy-lit,  illusive  gleam  ! 

And  yet  I  cannot  quite  believe 

That  such  bright  impulse  could  deceive. 

I  felt  I  had  so  much  to  say, 

Such  pleasant  thoughts  from  day  to  day, 

Sang,  lark-like,  with  each  morning  ray, 

Or  murmured  low  in  twilight  grey. 

Like  distant  curfew  pealing. 
And  then,  for  each,  fair  Fancy  brought 
A  robe  of  language  ready  wrought. 
The  smile  of  every  winged  thought 

Half  veiling,  half  revealing. 
And  I  only  waited,  with  longing  gaze, 
For  the  golden  leisure  of  summer  days. 
Which  I  thought  to  crown  with  happiest  lays, 


On  the  Last  Leaf.  1 3  5 

God  thought  not  so  !  Ah  no,  He  knew 
There  was  other  work  for  me  to  do, 
There  were  other  lessons  for  me  to  learn  : 
Another  voice  fell,  iow  and  stern, 

Upon  the  too  reluctant  ear. 
Before  the  solemn  voice  of  Pain 
My  visions  fled,  nor  came  again, 
With  all  their  glad  and  lovely  train, 

My  summer-tide  to  cheer. 

Well  is  it  when,  at  high  command 
Of  wisest  Love,  she  takes  her  stand 

At  the  heart's  busy  portal. 
And  warns  away  each  noisy  guest 
Whose  presence  chases  calm  and  rest, 
Our  powers,  the  brightest  and  the  best, 

Proclaiming  weak  and  mortal. 
That  so  the  way  may  be  more  clear 

For  Him,  the  Prince  of  Peace,  to  come, 
That  which  is  left  all  void  and  drear 

To  make  His  palace  and  His  home. 

And  so  the  song  of  my  heart  was  hushed, 
And  the  chiming  thoughts  were  stilled  : 
Summer  flew  by,  but  the  hope  was  crashed, 
Swiftly  onward  my  life-tide  rashed, 
But  my  book  remained  unfilled. 


36  The  Ministry  of  So7ig, 

For  an  aching  head  and  a  weary  frame, 
Poetry  is  but  an  empty  name. 
Yet  I  am  sure  it  was  better  so. 
I  trusted  then,  and  now  I  k7iow. 

For  ever,  I  think,  the  gift  is  fled 

Which  once  I  fancied  mine  : 
So  be  it !  A  '  name '  is  not  for  me  ; 
Loving  and  loved  I  would  rather  be, 
With  power  to  cheer  and  sympathize, 
Bearing  new  light  for  tear-dimmed  eyes  j 
But  I  do  not  care  to  shine. 

So  if  aught  I  write  may  tend  to  this. 
My  fairest  hope  of  earthly  bliss. 

Content  with  humblest  rhyme  I'll  be 
And,  striving  less  and  trusting  more, 
All  simple,  earnest  thoughts  outpour, 

Such  as  my  God  may  give  to  me. 


How  should  they  Know  Me  ?     1 37 


HO  W  SHOULD  THE  Y  KNO  W  ME  ? 

THERE  are  those  who  deem  they  know  me 
well, 
And  smile  as  I  tell  them  '  nay  ! ' 
Who  think  they  may  clearly  and  carelessly  tell 
Each  living  drop  in  my  heart's  deep  well, 
And  lightly  enter  its  inmost  cell ; 

But  little  (how  little  !)  know  they  ! 

How  should  they  know  me  ?  My  soul  is  a  maze 

Where  I  wander  alone,  alone  ; 
Never  a  footfall  there  was  heard. 
Never  a  mortal  hand  hath  stirred 
The  silence-curtain  that  hangs  between 
Outer  and  inner,  nor  eye  hath  seen 
What  is  only  and  ever  my  o^vn. 

They  have  entered  indeed  the  vestibule, 

For  its  gate  is  opened  wide, 
High  as  the  roof,  and  I  welcome  all 
Who  will  visit  my  warm  reception-hall. 
And  utter  a  long  and  loving  call 

To  some  who  are  yet  outside. 


138  The  Min  is  try  of  Song. 


I  would  lead  each  guest  to  a  place  of  rest ; 

All  should  be  calm  and  bright ; 
Then  a  lulling  flow  of  melody, 
And  a  crystal  draught  of  sympathy, 
And  odorous  blossoms  of  kindly  thought, 
With  golden  fruit  of  deed,  be  brought 

From  the  chambers  out  of  sight. 

Some  I  would  take  with  a  cordial  hand, 
And  lead  them  round  the  walls  ; 

Showing  them  many  a  storied  screen, 

Many  a  portrait,  many  a  scene, 

Deep-cut  carving,  and  outlined  scroll ; 

Passing  quickly  where  shadows  roll, 
Slowly  where  sunshine  falls. 

They  do  not  know  and  they  cannot  see 

That  strong-hinged,  low-arched  doci, 
Though  I  am  passing  in  and  out. 
From  gloom  within  to  light  without, 
Or  from  gloom  without  to  light  within  | 
None  can  ever  an  entrance  win. 
None  !  for  evermore. 

It  is  a  weird  and  wondrous  realm, 
Where  I  often  hold  my  breath 


How  should  they  Know  Me  ?     1 39 

At  the  unseen  things  which  there  I  see, 
At  the  mighty  shapes  which  beckon  to  me, 
At  the  visions  of  woe  and  ecstasy, 

At  the  greetings  of  life  and  death. 

They  rise,  they  pass,  they  melt  away. 

In  an  ever-changing  train  ; 
I  cannot  hold  them  or  tell  their  stay, 
Or  measure  the  time  of  their  fleeting  sway  ; 
As  grim  as  night,  and  as  fair  as  day, 

They  vanish  and  come  again. 

I  wander  on  through  the  strange  domain, 

Marvelling  ever  and  aye  ; 
Marvelling  how  around  my  feet 
All  the  opposites  seem  to  meet. 
The  dark,  the  light,  the  chill,  the  glow, 
The  storm,  the  calm,  the  fire,  the  snow, 
How  can  it  be  ?     I  do  not  know. 

Then  how,  oh  how,  can  they  ? 

What  am  I,  and  how  ?     If  reply  there  be, 

In  unsearchable  chaos  't  is  cast. 
Though  the  soaring  spirit  of  restless  man 
Might  the  boundary  line  of  the  universe  scan, 
And  measure  and  map  its  measureless  plan. 
The  gift  of  self-knowledge  were  last ! 


I40  The  Ministry  of  Song. 


MAKING  POETRY. 

LITTLE  one,  what  are  you  doing, 
Sitting  on  the  window-seat  ? 
Laughing  to  yourself,  and  writing, 
Some  right  merry  thought  inditing, 
Balancing  with  swinging  feet. 

*  'T  is  some  poetry  I  'm  making, 

Though  I  never  tried  before  : 
Four  whole  lines  !  I  '11  read  them  to  you. 
Do  you  think  them  funny,  do  you  ? 

Shall  I  try  to  make  some  more  ? 

•  I  should  like  to  be  a  poet, 

Writing  verses  every  day  ; 
Then  to  you  I  'd  always  bring  them. 
You  should  make  a  tune  and  sing  them  ; 

'T  would  be  pleasanter  than  play.' 

Think  you,  darling,  nought  is  needed 

But  the  paper  and  the  ink, 
And  a  pen  to  trace  so  lightly, 
While  the  eye  is  beaming  brightly, 

All  the  pretty  things  we  think  ? 


Making  Poetry.  1 4 1 

There's  a  secret, — can  you  trust  me? 

Do  not  ask  me  what  it  is  ! 
Perhaps  some  day  you  too  will  know  it, 
If  you  live  to  be  a  poet, 

All  its  agony  and  bliss. 

Poetry  is  not  a  trifle, 

Lightly  thought  and  lightly  made  ; 
Not  a  fair  and  scentless  flower, 
Gaily  cultured  for  an  hour. 

Then  as  gaily  left  to  fade. 

'T  is  not  stringing  rhymes  together 

In  a  pleasant  true  accord  ; 
Not  the  music  of  the  metre, 
Not  the  happy  fancies,  sweeter 

Than  a  flower-bell,  honey-stored. 

'T  is  the  essence  of  existence, 

Rarely  rising  to  the  light ; 
And  the  songs  that  echo  longest, 
Deepest,  fullest,  truest,  strongest. 

With  your  life-blood  you  will  write. 

With  your  life-blood.     None  will  know  it, 
You  will  never  tell  them  how. 


142  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

Smile  !  and  they  will  never  guess  it : 
Laugh  !  and  you  will  not  confess  it 
By  your  paler  cheek  and  brow. 

There  must  be  the  tightest  tension 

Ere  the  tone  be  full  and  true  ; 
Shallow  lakelets  of  emotion 
Are  not  like  the  spirit-ocean, 
Which  reflects  the  purest  blue. 

Every  lesson  you  shall  utter, 

If  the  charge  indeed  be  yours, 

First  is  gained  by  earnest  learning, 

Carved  in  letters  deep  and  burning 

On  a  heart  that  long  endures. 

Day  by  day  that  wondrous  tablet 
Your  life-poem  shall  receive. 

By  the  hand  of  Joy  or  Sorrow  ; 

But  the  pen  can  never  borrow 
Half  the  records  that  they  leave. 

You  will  only  give  a  transcript 
Of  a  life-line  here  and  there, 
Only  just  a  spray-wreath  springing 
From  the  hidden  depths,  and  flinging 
Broken  rainbows  on  the  air. 


The  Cascade.  143 


Still,  if  you  but  copy  truly, 

'T  will  be  poetry  indeed, 
Echoing  many  a  heart's  vibration, 
Rather  love  than  admiration 

Earning  as  your  priceless  meed. 

Will  you  seek  it  ?     Will  you  brave  it  ? 

'T  is  a  strange  and  solemn  thing, 
Learning  long,  before  your  teaching, 
Listening  long,  before  your  preaching, 

Suffering  before  you  sing. 


THE  CASCADE. 

WHO  saith  that  Poetry  is  not  in  thee, 
Thou  wild  cascade,  bright,  beautiful, 
and  free  ? 
Who   saith  that   thine   own   sunny  gleaming 

waters 
Are  not  among  '  sweet  Poesie's '  fair  daughters? 
No  Poetry  in  thee  ?  then  tell,  oh  tell. 
Where  is   the   home   where   she  delights   to 
dwell  ? 


144  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

But  what  is  Poetry?     Some  aerial  sprite, 
Clothed  in  a  dazzling  robe  of  wavy  light, 
Whose  magic  touch  unlocks  the  gates  of  joy 
In  dreamland  to  some  vision-haunted  boy  ? 
Or  is  she  but  a  breath  from  Eden-bowers, 
Charged  with  the  fragrance  of  their  shining 

flowei-s, 
Which,   passing  o'er  the  harp -strings   of  the 

soul, 
Awakes  new  melody,  whose  echoes  roll 
In  waves  of  spirit-music  through  the  heart, 
Till  tears   and   smiles  in  mingling  sweetness 

start  ? 
It  may  be  so,  but  still  she  seems  to  me 
Most  like  a  God-sent  sunlight,  rich  and  free. 
Bathing  the  tiniest  leaf  in  molten  gold. 
Bidding  each  flower  some  secret  charm  unfold, 
Weaving  a  veil  of  loveliness  for  earth, 
Calling  all  fairy  foi-ms  to  wondrous  birth. 

Our  sweet  soul-Artist  !     Many  a  fair  surprise 
Her  colour-treasures  bring  to  waiting  eyes  ; 
Her  pictures,  sudden  seen,  oft  seem  to  dwell 
Like  pearls  within  the  rugged  ocean  shell, 
They  tell  of  something  purer  and  more  fair 
Than  earth  can  boast,  and  gleam  forth  every- 
where, 


The  Cascade.  145 


Star-glimpses   through   th'e   trees,    or    flashes       I 

bright 
Of  meteor  glory  in  a  northern  night. 


Our  sweet  soul-Harpist !   linking  winds  with 

sighs, 
And  blending  both  with  spirit-melodies. 
And  adding  chords  that  come  we  know   not 

whence, 
Dream-echoes  mingling  with  the  wakeful  sense. 
O  strange,  O  beautiful  I  though  all  unknown. 
The  music-fount  of  every  lovely  tone. 
The  colour-fount  of  every  lovely  thought, 
By  this  bright  ministrant  so  freely  brought, 
Save   that   we    own   their   true  and  soothing 

might 
One   of  His   perfect   gifts,  whose  names  are 

Love  and  Light. 


Oh  !  she  is  often  where  we  least  surmise, 
And  scorns  the  dimness  of  our  heavy  eyes  ; 
We  catch  the  ruby  sparkles  of  her  wing. 
And  she  is  gone  like  dewdrops  of  the  spring  ; 
Again,  to  glad  us  with  her  smile  she  stays. 
And  shows  her  brightness  to  our  loving  gaze. 


146  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

No  cave  so  dark  but  she  may  gain  its  porch, 
And  gild   the  shadows   with   her  quenchless 

torch ; 
No  dell  so  silent  but  her  pealing  voice 
Can  bid  a  leafy  orchestra  rejoice  ; 
No  waste  so  lonely  but  she  there  may  hold 
Her  gorgeous  court  in  splendour  all  untold. 
And  where  those  waters  murmur  as  they  leap, 
A  song  of  gentleness,  and  calm,  and  sleep, 
Within  the  sounding  music  of  their  tone 
I  hear  a  voice,  and  know  it  is  her  own. 

And  where  the  fair,   fond  sunbeams  blithely 

play 
Amid  the  hazy  wreaths  of  dancing  spray, 
A  form  of  fairy  grace  shines  forth  to  me, 
I  hail  the  vision,  for  I  know 't  is  she. 
She  loves  that  changeful,  yet  unchanging  foam, 
Within  its  arching  bowers  she  finds  a  home. 
And  reads  beneath  its  roof  of  fleeting  snow 
The  secrets  of  the  shadowy  depth  below. 
Then  who  shall  say  that  she  is  not  in  thee. 
Thou  wild  cascade,  bright,  beautiful,  and  free  ! 


Constance  de  V .  147 


CONSTANCE  DE  V . 

An  episode  in  the  early  life  of  Charles  Maurice, 
Prince  de  Talleyrand. 

YE  maidens  of  Old  England  ! 
The  joyous  and  the  free, 
The  loving  and  the  loved  of  all. 

Wherever  ye  may  be  ; 
Who  wander  through  the  ferny  dell, 

And  o'er  the  breezy  hill, 
And  glide  along  the  woodland  path 

All  at  your  own  sweet  will ; 
Who  know  the  many  joys  of  home, 

The  song,  the  smile,  the  mirth, 
The  happy  things  which  God  has  given 

To  brighten  this  our  earth  : 
Comes  there  a  sigh,  a  longing  thought, 

In  lonely  musing  hours  ? 
Deem  ye  there  is  a  fairer  realm, 

A  purer  faith  than  ours  ? 
O  cast  away  the  yearning  dream, 

And  listen,  while  I  tell 
Of  one  who  knew  no  other  home 

Than  her  own  convent  cell. 


1 48  The  Ministry  of  Song. 


The  rain  comes  down  relentlessly, 

The  sky  is  robed  in  grey, 
Oh,  Paris  is  a  dreary  place 

On  such  a  dreary  day  ! 
But  dreariest  of  the  darkening  streets, 

Where  the  loud  rain  doth  fall, 
Is  that  where  looms  the  convent  tower, 

"Where  frowns  the  convent  wall. 


A  boyish  step  is  passing 

Beneath  the  dripping  eaves. 
With  monkish  lore  beladen. 

With  musty  Latin  leaves. 
Ah,  Charles  Maurice,  the  young  abbe, 

Thou  art  of  princely  birth  ! 
For  thee  shall  dawn  a  brighter  day, 
A  strange  high  part  be  thine  to  play. 
With  wondrous  tact  to  guide  and  sway 

The  great  ones  of  the  earth  ! 

III. 

But  the  still-increasing  torrents 
Will  spoil  the  ancient  tomes, 


Constance  de  V -.  t  49 

"  And  woe  betide  Charles  Maurice 
From  the  wrath  of  cowled  gnomes  ! 

So  he  seeks  a  low-bent  archway 
Within  the  grim  old  wall, 

Where  never  the  laughing  footstep 
Of  a  sunbeam  dares  to  fall. 

IV. 

Anon  he  wraps  the  volumes 

In  the  folds  of  his  hooded  gown  ; 
Then  starts  to  hear,  though  he  knows  no 

fear, 
A  sound  which  tells  him  life  is  near — 

That  he  is  not  alone. 
He  turns — the  passage  is  dark  as  night, 

He  listens — but  all  is  still, 
Save  the  raindrops  in  monotonous  march, 
And  the  ceaseless  drip  from  the  mouldering 
arch, 

On  the  stone  so  damp  and  chill. 

V. 

*  Qui  vive?'  he  cries  right  gaily, 

Through  the  cavernous  entiy's  gloom  ; 
But  a  low,  faint  cry  is  the  sole  reply. 
As  the  voice  of  one  who  is  come  to  lie 
On  the  brink  of  a  yawning  tomb. 


The  Ministry  of  Song. 


Oh,  where  is  the  true-hearted  lad, 

Who  at  the  call  of  sorrow 
But  in  his  thoughtlessness  is  glad 
To  help  the  weak  and  cheer  the  sad, 
And  promise  a  brighter  morrow  ? 


VI. 

The  cry  was  one  of  weakness — 

Of  weariness  unblest ; 
And  a  pulse  of  gentle  sympathy 

Makes  music  in  his  breast. 
Through  the  dark  way  he  gropeth 

To  the  iron-studded  door, 
Behind  whose  oaken  grimness 
Some  dwell  in  cloistral  dimness 

Who  may  pass  out  no  more. 


There,  in  the  glimmering  darkness. 
He  deems  he  can  descry 

A  small  and  sable-robed  form 
On  the  cold  doorstep  lie. 

The  form  is  that  of  maidenhood  ; 
And,  in  that  boyish  heart, 


Constance  de  V .  1 5 1 

It  wakes  a  helpful  tenderness, 
Like  that  which,  hidden,  yet  doth  bless 
Through  a  loved  brother's  fond  caress, 
Ere  childhood's  hours  depart 


VIII. 

'  What  is  it?'  said  Charles  Maurice, 

In  a  softly-pitying  tone  ; 
*  What  dost  thou  fear?  why  art  thou  here? 

And  why  that  weary  moan?' 
Then,  lifting  her  with  gentle  arm, 

He  bore  her  where  the  light 
Fell  on  a  girlish  face  so  fair. 
It  seemed  a  seraph  light  to  wear. 
But  for  the  sorrow  mantling  there, 

And  the  glance  of  wild  affright. 


Why  should  I  paint  her  beauty  ? 

Have  ye  not  often  tried 
To  tell  of  rosy  lip  and  cheek, 
Of  starlit  eyes  that  shine  and  speak, 
Of  cloudlike  locks  that  vainly  seek 

The  snowy  brow  to  hide  ? 


The  Ministry  of  Song. 


And  feel  ye  not,  when  all  is  said 

That  words  can  ever  say, 
The  fount  of  beauty  still  is  sealed- 
The  loveliness  is  not  revealed 
To  those  who  list  the  lay. 


Oh,  words  can  never  satisfy — 

They  are  too  hard  and  real ; 
The  subtle  charm  they  cannot  show 
By  which  the  Beautiful  we  know, 

The  Beautiful  we  feel. 
Perchance  they  speak  the  form,  the  mind, 

And  draw  the  likeness  well ; 
But  at  the  closed  entrance  gate 
All  reverently  they  bend  and  wait 

Where,  'neath  the  marble-arching  dome, 
In  crystal-windowed  palace-home. 

The  soul  itself  doth  dwell. 


XI. 

And  who  may  tell  how  lovely 
The  gentle  Constance  seemed, 

When  through  such  clouds  of  sorrow 
Her  meteor  beauty  gleamed  ! 


Constance  de  V .  1 5  3 


What  wonder  that  all  speechless, 
As  in  a  trance  of  gladness, 

The  young  abbe  stood  wonderingly, 
Before  such  radiant  sadness  ? 


XII, 

For  the  look  of  hopeless  terror 

Was  softened  as  she  raised 
Those  orbs  of  strange,  quick  brightness, 

And  on  Charles  Maurice  gazed. 
She  saw  the  pledge  of  kindness 

Traced  on  that  high  fair  brow  ; 
*  Oh,  no  !  thou  never  wilt  betray. 
But  aid  thou  canst  not ;  say,  oh  say, 
Am  I  not  lost  ?    There  is  no  way 

Of  safe  return,  I  know.' 

XIII. 
Then  the  trembling  hands  she  folded 

Over  the  burning  cheek, 
A  wild  and  woe-bom  sobbing 

Forbade  the  lips  to  speak  ; 
Till  quiet  words  of  sympathy, 

So  softly  breathed  and  low. 
And  the  touch  of  that  young  hand  on  hers, 

Soon  bade  her  story  flow. 


1 54  The  Ministry  of  Song. 


XIV. 

*  I  was  a  very  little  child, 

Not  old  enough  to  know, 
Perhaps  kind  looks  had  on  me  smiled, 
But  I  forget  them  now, 
When  I  was  brought  to  live  so  coldly  here, 
Where  all  goes  on  the  same  through  weary 
month  and  year. 


XV. 

*  I  did  not  know  how  lovely  all 
The  world  without  must  be ; 
The  sunbeams  on  the  convent  wall 
Were  quite  enough  for  me  ; 
But  others  came  who  knew,  and  then  they 

told 
Of  all  that  I   had  dreamt,   but   never  might 
behold. 


*  They  told  me  of  the  mountains  tall, 
Where  they  might  freely  roam  ; 

They  told  me  of  the  waterfall, 
With  music  in  its  foam  ; 


Constance  de  V .  155 


They  told   me   of   wide  fields    and   opening 

flowers, 
Of  sloping  mossy  banks  and  glowing  autumn 

bowers. 


XVII. 

*  Of  other  things  they  told  me,  too, 

More  beautiful  to  them, 
Of  gleaming  halls  where  sparklets  flew 
From  many  a  radiant  gem  ; 
And  then  they  told  of  mirth,  and  dance,  and 

song. 
Would  I  had  never  heard,  that  I  might  never 
long  1 


XVIII. 

*  They  said  the  sky  was  just  as  blue 

Above  the  convent  towers. 
As  where  the  arching  forests  threw 
A  shade  o'er  summer  flowers ; 
Cut  I  grew  weary  of  that  dazzling  sky, 
And  longed  to  wander  forth,  e'en  if  it  were 
to  die. 


The  Ministry  of  Song. 


'  I  did  not  want  to  change  my  lot, 

I  knew  it  might  not  be  ; 
1  only  longed  to  have  one  spot 
All  bright  with  memory. 
To  gaze  just  once  upon  the  world  I  tried, 
And  then  I  would  return  to  be  Heaven's  lonely 
bride. 


'  But,  oh,  I  heard  no  sounds  of  mirth, 

No  beauty  I  could  see ; 
I  could  not  find  the  lovely  earth. 
It  was  not  made  for  me. 
And  now  my  punishment  indeed  is  sore, 
My  only  home  hath  closed   on   me  its  iron 
door. ' 

XXI. 

Yes  !  in  her  fevered  restlessness 
She  left  her  un watched  cell, 

When  all  around  were  summoned 
By  the  deep-voiced  matin-bell. 

And  in  the  damp-stoned  cloisters 
To  rest  awhile  she  thought. 


Constance  de  V- 


Where  cold,  fresh   air  might  round   her 

play, 
The  burning  fever  pass  away, 
And  coolness  of  the  early  day 
To  her  hot  brow  be  brought. 


XXII. 

Strange  carelessness  !  no  massy  bar 

Across  the  gate  was  thrown  ! 
She    deemed    that    world    of   beauty 

near ; 
She  gazed  around  in  haste  and  fear, 
Oh,  none  were  there  to  see  and  hear  - 

The  timid  bird  has  flown  1 
But  the  rain  came  down  relentlessly, 

The  sky  was  robed  in  grey  ; 
All  dreary  seemed  the  narrow  street, 
And  nothing  bright  or  fair  might  meet 
Her  of  the  white  and  trembling  feet ; 
No  loveliness  is  there  to  greet 

That  wandering  star  to-day. 


XXIII. 
Then,  bowed  with  shame  and  weakness, 
And  disappointed  hope. 


1 5  8  The  Mmistry  of  Song. 

She  only  reached  the  heavy  door 
To  find  it  finnly  closed  once  more  ; 
Ah,  who  shall  help,  and  who  restore, 

And  who  that  door  shall  ope  ? 
The  strong  young  arm  of  Charles  Maurice 

Tries  once  and  yet  again, 
But  the  weighty  portal  baffles  him  : 

Ah  !  is  it  all  in  vain  ? 


XXIV. 

Eut  Constance  darts  one  upward  glance 

Of  blent  despair  and  trust ; 
There  is  no  bolt,  for  daylight  gleams 
Between  the  scarcely-meeting  beams : 
Some  unknown  obstacle  there  seems, 

And  conquer  it  he  must. 
He  strains  his  utmost  strength,  the  sweat 

Is  beading  on  his  brow  ; 
It  creaks — it  yields  !     O  Constance,  smile, 

The  door  is  open  now  X 


From  her  cheek  the  flush  hath  faded, 
As  fades  the  evening  glow, 


Constance  de  V .  159 

In  pristine  whiteness  leaving 

The  rosy  Alpine  snow. 
And  like  a  breeze  of  twilight 

The  aspen-leaves  among, 
A  whisper  falls  upon  his  ear 

From  quivering  lip  and  tongue  : 


XXVI, 

*  Farewell !  Oh,  thou  hast  saved  me  ! 

And  the  hand  so  white  and  cold, 
With  lingering  clasp  of  gratitude, 

Her  wordless  thanks  hath  told. 
One  moment  on  that  small,  fair  hand 

His  youthful  lips  are  pressed  ; 
There  is  a  reverence  in  his  eye. 
For  grief  and  beauty  both  are  nigh  ; 
She  passes  like  a  spirit  by, 

To  seek  her  cheerless  rest. 

XXVII. 

They  are  parted,  like  the  dewdrops 

That  linger  in  the  smile 
Of  a  storm-begotten  rainbow, 

But  for  a  little  while  : 
Then  one  in  lonely  dimness 

To  earth  may  soon  descend  ; 


i6o  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

And  one  with  the  bright  sky  above, 
Though  all  unseen,  may  blend. 


XXVIII. 

The  young  abbe  hath  paused  in  vain 

To  hear  her  footstep  pass  ; 
'T  w^as  lighter  than  the  noiseless  fall 

Of  rose-leaf  on  the  grass. 
No  sound  is  heard  but  the  pattering  rain, 

And  he  slowly  turns  away, 
With  the  brown  old  books  beneath  his  gown, 
To  meet  his  abbot's  gathering  frown, 

For  loitering  on  the  way. 

XXIX. 

Think  you  he  conned  the  loveless  lore 

Without  a  thoughtful  sigh 
For  the  loveliness  in  sorrow. 

Which  passed  so  trance-like  by  ? 
Among  the  missal  borders 

Was  no  such  angel-face ; 
And  such,  once  seen,  fade  not  away  ; 
Their  image  shines  without  decay. 
When  on  the  canvas  of  the  heart, 
With  untaught  skill,  yet  mystic  art, 

Each  line  of  light  we  trace. 


Co7tstance  de  V .  i6i 

XXX. 

The  wing  of  Time  seems  broken  now. 

So  tardy  is  his  flignt ; 
He  deems  by  day  that  she  is  dead, 

He  dreams  she  lives,  by  night. 
Till  quick  anxiety  hath  found 

A  messenger  to  bear 
The  tidings  that  he  strove  to  frame, 

From  woven  hope  and  fear. 

XXXI. 

What  wonder  that  he  heard  not 

Her  footfall  on  the  stone  ! 
She  sank  beneath  the  cloister  wall, 

Unheeded  and  alone  ; 
And  ere  Charles  Maurice  stood  again 

Beneath  the  open  sky, 
For  ever  on  the  things  of  earth 

She  closed  her  wearv  eve. 


Constance,  the  beautiful,  hath  left 

Her  dismal  convent  cell ; 
She  hath  not  known  one  hope  fulfilled, 
One  granted  joy,  one  longing  stilled. 


1 62  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

For  her  the  melody  of  life 

Was  but  one  chord  of  inward  strife, 

Was  but  one  ruthless  knell. 
Her  heart  bedimmed  with  sameness, 

Her  only  wish  denied, 
Oh,  what  a  mockery  it  were 
Her  lot  should  such  a  title  bear, 

'  Heaven's  own  appointed  bride  ! ' 


Why  should  her  early  spring-time 

Be  quenched  in  wintry  gloom  ? 
Was  it  not  merciful  and  wise 
To  call  her  spirit  to  the  skies 

From  such  a  living  tomb  ? 
How  might  that  gentle  maiden 

Have  scattered  joy  around, 
And  made  the  earth  a  brighter  place, 
For  all  her  radiance  and  grace  ! 
But  now,  unsorrowed  and  unknown. 
Her  only  memory  is  a  stone 

Within  the  convent  bouni 


Fairy  Homes.  163 


FAIRY  HOMES. 


I'VE  found  at  last  the  hiding-place 
Where  the  fairy  people  dwell, 
And  to  win  the  secrets  of  their  race 
I  hold  the  long-sought  spell. 

With  the  woodland  fairies  I  can  talk, 
I  can  list  their  silveiy  lays  ; 

Oh  !  pleasant  in  a  lonely  walk 
Is  the  company  of  fays. 

No  fabled  fancy  't  is  to  me, 
For  in  every  floweret's  bell 

Is  a  tiny  chamber,  where  I  see 
A  gentle  fairy  dwell. 

And  at  my  bidding  forth  they  come. 
To  soothe  me  or  to  cheer, 

And  to  tell  me  tales  of  fairydom 
With  voices  soft  and  clear. 

Full  many  a  beauteous  lesson,  too, 
Their  rosy  lips  can  teach  ; 


164  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

Great  men  would  wonder  if  they  knew 
How  well  the  fairies  preach  ! 

When  thoughts  of  sorrow  sadden  me, 
They  seem  to  sympathize, 

And  gaze  upon  me  lovingly, 
With  tender  earnest  eyes  ; 

But  when  a  tide  of  joyous  glee 
Is  bringing  song  and  smile, 

Then  brightly  they  look  up  to  me. 
And  laugh  with  me  awhile. 

Oh  !  lovely  are  the  floweret  homes 
Of  these  sweet  summer  fays  ; 

God's  thoughts  of  beauty  taking  fonii 
To  gladden  mortal  gaze. 


More  Music.  165 


MORE  MUSIC. 

OH  for  a  burst  of  song, 
Exultant,  deep,  and  strong, 
One  gush  of  music's  billowy  might, 
To  bear  my  soul  away 
Into  the  realms  of  day, 
From   these  dim  glacier-caves   of  Life's   cold 
night ! 

Oh  for  a  sunset  strain 
Wafted  o'er  slumberous  main. 
To  enter,  spirit-like,  my  prisoned  heart, 
And  there,  with  viewless  hand, 
Unloose  each  mortal  band, 
That  in  the  songs  of  heaven  I  too  might  learn 
a  part. 

The  sweetest  music  here 
Calls  forth  the  quiet  tear, 
For  grief  and  gladness  flow  in  blended 
stream  ; 

Oh  for  the  joyous  day, 
(Can  it  be  far  away?) 
When  one  great  Alleluia  song  shall  chase  Life's 
tuneless  dream  ! 


;66  The  Ministry  af  Song. 

TRAVELLING  THOUGHTS. 
On  board  the  steamer  La  France,  January  26,  iS65. 

A  STILL  grey  haze  around  us, 
Behind,  a  foreign  shore, 
A  still  grey  deep  beneath  us. 

And  Dover  cliffs  before. 
Not  one  within  a  hundred  miles 

"Whose  name  I  ever  heard. 
None  who  would  care  to  speak  to  me 

A  passing  friendly  word  : 
Yet  not  a  shadow  crosseth  mo 

Of  loneliness  or  fear  ; 
I  bless  the  Omnipresent  One, 

I  know  that  God  is  here. 

All  whom  I  love  are  scattered  : 

And  many  a  month  and  mile 
Rise,  mountain-like,  before,  behind, 

Between  me  and  their  smile. 
Oh  that  the  love  I  bear  them 

Might  blossom  into  skill 
To  comfort  and  to  brighten, 

And  all  with  gladness  fill  1 


Travellmg  Thoughts.  167 

Ah  !  helpless  love  !     Yet 't  is  a  joy 

To  turn  each  wish  to  prayer, 
And,  where  each  loved  one  sojounieth, 

To  know  that  God  is  there. 


The  nearest  and  the  dearest 

Are  where  the  rushing  Rhine 
Bends  northward  from  the  Drachenfels, 

From  castle,  rock,  and  vine  ; 
Where  long-lined  chestnut  shadows 

Make  tracery  below. 
And  the  moss-framed  window  challenges 

The  might  of  frost  and  snow. 
Lit  rather  by  the  dawn  of  heaven 

Than  earthly  sunset  glow. 
That  passing  home  of  faith  and  prayer  ! 

Oh,  God  is  there,  I  know  ! 

From  thence  the  wing  of  loving  thought 

Speeds  on  where  Severn  flows. 
And  hovers  o'er  as  fair  a  scene 

As  our  fair  England  knows  ; 
The  home  of  summer  roses. 

Of  winter  mirth  and  glee. 
Long  may  that  home  unbroken, 

That  mirth  unsilenced  be  I 


1 68  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

The  blessings  of  unbounded  grace 

I  pray  Him  to  bestow, 
And  trust  Him  for  the  coming  years, 

For  He  is  there,  I  know. 

Now  westward  sweeps  the  vision 

Across  the  Irish  Sea, 
And  echoes  low  of  sisters'  love 

Come  back  again  to  me. 
A  beacon  bright  in  stormy  night 

Of  error,  rage,  and  wrong. 
That  home  of  love  and  truth  shall  cast 

Its  radiance  pure  and  strong. 
They  tell  of  rumours  strange  and  dark  ; 

But  oh  1  no  need  to  fear  ! 
God  will  not  leave  His  own,  I  know, 

His  guardian  hand  is  near. 

Another  scene  by  gentle  Ouse 

Must  aye  be  dear  to  me, 
Though  all  are  not  together  now. 

And  one  is  on  the  sea. 
And  where  a  grey  cathedral  tower 

Uprises  broad  and  high, 
A  home  is  made  in  cloistral  shade. 

Beside  the  winding  Wye. 


Travelling  Thoughts.  169 

To  seek  the  richest  boons  for  these, 
"Why  should  the  heart  be  slow  ? 

One  Shepherd,  Chief,  and  Great,  and 
Good, 
Is  watching  there,  I  know. 

Then,  in  a  busy  city, 

A  crypt  all  dark  and  lone, 
A  name  engraven  on  our  hearts 

Is  traced  upon  a  stone. 
Not  there  the  sainted  spirit ! 

She  dwells  in  holy  light, 
Within  the  pearl-raised  portals, 

With  those  who  walk  in  white. 
May  all  her  children  follow 

The  path  she  meekly  trod, 
And  reach  the  home  she  rests  in  now, 

And  dwell,  like  her,  with  God. 


70  The  Ministry  of  Song. 


NEW  YEAR'S   WISHES. 

APEARL-STREWN  pathway  of  untold 
gladness, 
Flecked  by  no  gloom,  by  no  weary  sadness. 

Such  be  the  year  to  thee  ! 
A  crystal  rivulet,  sunlight  flinging, 
Awakening  blossoms,  and  joyously  singing 
Its  own  calm  melody. 

A  symphony  soft,  and  sweet,  and  low, 
Like  the  gentlest  music  the  angels  know 

In  their  moments  of  deepest  joy  ; 
'Mid  earth's  wild  clamour  thy  spirit  telling 
Of  beauty  and  holiness,  upward  swelling, 

And  mingling  with  the  sky. 

A  radiant,  fadeless  Eden  flower, 
Unfolding  in  loveliness  hour  by  hour, 

Like  a  wing-veiled  seraph's  face  ;— 
Such  be  the  opening  year  to  thee, 
Shrouded  though  all  its  moments  be. 

Unknown  as  the  bounds  of  space. 


Bonnie  Wee  Eric.  171 


Blessings  unspoken  this  year  be  thine  ! 
Each  day  in  its  rainbow  flight  entwine 

New  gems  in  thy  joy- wreathed  crown  ; 
May  each  in  the  smile  of  Him  be  bright, 
Who  is  changeless  Love  and  unfading  Light, 
Till  the  glory  seem  to  thy  tranced  sight 

As  heaven  to  earth  come  down. 


BONNIE   WEE  ERIC. 

BONNIE  wee  Eric  !  I  have  sat  beside  the 
evening  fire, 
And  listened  to  the  leaping  flame  still  darting 

keenly  higher, 
And  all  the  while  a  lisping  voice  and  eyes  of 

sunny  blue 
Out-whispered  the  flame-whisper,    and    out- 
shone the  flicker  too. 

Bonnie  wee  Eric  !  To  his  home- thoughts  plea- 
santly return. 

To  long  fair  evenings  in  the  land  of  ben  and 
brae  and  burn  ; 


1 72  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

Sweet  northern  words,  so  tunefully  upon  our 

Saxon  flung, 
As  if  a  mountain  breeze  swept  by  where  fairy 

bells  are  hung. 

But  sweeter  than  all  fairy  bells  of  quaint  sweet 

minstrel  tongue, 
Rang  out  wee  Eric's  gentlest  tone  when  o'er 

his  cot  I  hung, 
And  told  him  in  the  sunset  glow  once  more 

the  old  dear  story 
Of  Him  who  walked  the  earth  that  we  might 

walk  with  Him  in  glory. 

*  He  loves  the  little  children  so ; — does  darling 
Eric  love  Him?' 

I  think  the  angels  must  have  smiled  a  rainbow- 
smile  above  him. 

Yet  hardly  brighter  than  his  own,  that  lit  the 
answer  true, 

'Jesus,  the  kind  good  Jesus !  Me  do,  oh  yes, 
me  do ! ' 

Bonnie  wee  Eric !  How  the  thought  of  heaven 

is  full  of  joy, 
And  death  has  not  a  shadow  for  the  merry 

healthful  boy ! 


Bonnie  Wee  Eric.  173 

To  hear   about   the   happy  home   he  gladly 

turns  away 
From   picture  books,  or   Noah's  ark,  or  any 

i^ame  of  play. 

*  Mamma,    some  day  me  die,    and   then  the 

angels  take  me  home 
To  Jesus,  and  me  sing  to  Him  ; — Papa  and 

you  too  come.' 
So   brightly   said !     '  But,    Eric,    would    you 

really  like  to  die  ?  ' 
She  answered  him;  'then,  darling,  tell  mamma 

the  reason  why  ? ' 

And    then   the   sunny   eyes   looked   up,    and 

seemed  at  once  to  be 
Filled  with  a  happy  solemn  light,  like  sunrise 

on  the  sea ; 
He  said — 'Yes  me  would  like  to  die,  for  i7ie 

know  where  77ie going! ' 
What  saint-like  longing,  baby  lips  !    and  oh  ! 

what  blessed  knowing ! 

The  lesson  of  the  '  little  child '  is  sweetly  learnt 

from  him  ; 
No  questioning,  no  anxious  faith  all  tremulous 

and  dim. 


1 74  The  Ministry  of  Song. 


No  drowsy  love  that  hardly  knows  if  it  be  love 

indeed ; 
Not  'think'  or  'hope,'  but— '  Oh  me  do,'-~ 

'me  knaWy — his  simple  creed. 

Bonnie  wee  Eric !    Hardly  launched  on  this 

world's  troubled  sea, 
We  know  the  little  bark  is  safe  whate'er  its 

course  may  be ; 
And  short  or  long,  or  fair  or  rough,  our  hearts 

are  glad  in  knowing 
It  will  be  onward,   heavenward  still,   for  he 

*  knows  where  his  going.* 


MY  SWEET  WOODRUFF. 

NO  more  the  flowers  of  spring  are  seen, 
And  silence  fills  the  summer  noon  ; 
The  woods  have  lost  the  fresh  bright  green 
Of  May  and  June. 


My  Sweet  Woodmff.  175 

But  yesterday  I  found  a  flower, 
Deep  sheltered  from  the  withering  rays, 
Which  might  have  known  the  sun  and  showei 
Of  April  days. 


I  did  not  think  again  to  find 
Such  tender  relic  of  the  spring  ; 
It  thrilled  such  gladness  through  my  mind, 
I  needs  must  sing. 


My  girlhood's  spring  has  passed  for  aye. 
With  many  a  fairy  tint  and  tone  ; 
The  heat  and  burden  of  the  day 
Are  better  known. 


But  by  my  summer  path  has  sprung 
A  flower  of  happy  love,  as  fair 
As  e'er  a  subtle  fragrance  flung 

On  spring's  clear  air. 


I  hardly  thought  to  feel  again 
Such  dewy  freshness  in  my  heart, 
And  so  one  little  loving  strain 

Must  upward  start. 


76  The  Mi7iistry  of  Song. 

There  was  spring-sunshine  in  my  eyesj 
I  had  such  joy  in  finding  you 
So  full  of  all  I  love  and  prize, 

So  dear  and  true. 

My  heart  is  richer  far  to-day 
Than  when  I  came  a  week  ago ; 
How  near  to  me  such  treasure  lay 
I  did  not  know  ! 

The  long  parenthesis  is  o'er, 
And  now,  in  letters  all  of  light, 
The  story  of  our  love  once  more 

We  both  may  write. 

I  have  no  words  to  breathe  the  praise 
Which  now  for  this  *  good  gift '  I  ov/e 
A  wordless  anthem  I  must  raise, 

But  HE  will  know. 


Our  Gem  Wreath.  177 


OUR  GEM  WREATH. 

HEARD  ye  the  sounds  of  joyous  glee, 
And  the  notes  of  merry  minstrelsy, 
And  the  purling  of  low,  sweet  words  which 

start 
From  the  silent  depths  of  a  loving  heart ; 
And  the  gushing  laugh,  and  the  rippling  song, 
As  the  summer  days  sped  swift  along  ? 

Saw  ye  the  gleam  of  sunny  hair, 
And  the  glancing  of  forms  yet  young  and  fair, 
And  the  dancing  light  of  happy  eyes, 
And  smiles  like  the  rosy  morning  skies  ? 
Saw  ye  and  heard  ?  and  would  ye  not  know 
What  made  such  mirth  and  music  flow  ? 

There  were  maidens  five,  as  blithe  and  free 
As  the  curbless  waves  of  the  open  sea  : 
They  met ; — ye  may  liken  their  early  greeting 
To  the  dewdrops  on  a  rose-leaf  meeting  ; 
Then  many  a  day  flew  uncounted  by, 
With  Love  like  an  angel  hovering  nigh, 
While  the  ruby  light  of  his  sparkling  wing 
Flung  a  tint  of  joy  on  everything. 

M 


178  The  Miftzstry  of  Song. 

*  In  books,  or  works,  or  healthful  play,' 
As  the  merriest  lips  would  often  say, 
Or  in  strange  attempts  to  weave  a  spell 
Which  might  bid  the  Muses  among  them 

dwell. 
Or  in  a  stream  of  mingled  song, 
Some  of  their  hours  have  passed  along  ; 
Bearing  the  sound  of  each  pleasant  lay, 
And  the  echo  of  many  a  laugh,  away. 

When  the  burning  day  is  on  the  wane, 
They  wander  through  some  darkening  lane. 
In  quieter  converse  lingering  awhile 
'Neath  the  arching  roof  of  its  shadowy  aisle. 

Where  the  latest  sunbeams  kiss  the  brow 
Of  Malvern's  Beacon,  see  them  now ; 
Springing  o'er  moss-bed,  and  rock,  and  stone, 
As  though  the  green  earth  were  all  their  own ; 
And  singing  forth  to  the  fair  wide  scene. 
In  a  loyal  chorus,  *  God  save  the  Queen  ! ' 

Again,  from  out  the  busy  street. 
They  pass  with  gladly  reverent  feet 
Within  the  old  cathedral's  shade  ; 
And  feel  the  sacred  silence  laid 
Upon  the  lips,  upon  the  heart, 
By  time  and  place  thus  '  set  apart.* 
Then  the  anthem  fills  the  glorious  fane, 
Till  its  solemn  tones  float  back  again. 


Our  Gei7i  Wreath.  179 

Round  arch  and  column  the  sound  enwreathing, 
Till  they  seem  with  holy  music  breathing, — 
Music  and  love  ;  while  the  choral  praise 
Images  better  and  holier  days. 

Yet  once  again  ; — with  low  bent  head, 
They  are  kneeling  where  the  Feast  is  spread  ; 
Not  one  is  absent,  all  are  there, 
Its  silent  blessedness  to  share. 
Well  may  a  bond  of  love  be  felt, 
When  thus  together  they  have  knelt. 

Would  ye  know  the  maidens  five,  oh  say  ? 
The  meek,  the  merry,  the  gi-ave,  the  gay  : 
Each  jewel  of  all  the  sunlit  cluster 
Shines  with  its  own  unborrowed  lustre ; 
Then  listen  and  gaze,  while  each  shall  pass. 
As  a  half-seen  vision  in  magic  glass. 

I. 

A  QUIET  summer  evening,  when  the  daybeams' 

heat  and  glare 
Have  passed  away,  and  coolness  comes  upon 

the  cloudless  air. 
And  the  soft  grey  twilight  wakes  the  stars  to 

glisten  o'er  the  hill. 
And  the  only  vesper-chime  is  rung  by  one  low 

murmuring  rill : 


I  So  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

Like  such  an  evening  is  the  soul  of  that  one 

dark- eyed  maid, 
Amid  earth's  restless  turmoil  like  a  calm  and 

pleasant  shade ; 
So  soothing  and  so  gently  sweet  her  words  of 

deep  love  fall 
Upon  the  wearied  spirit,  like  the  ringdove's 

forest  call. 


Well  hath  she  learnt  to  sympathize  with  every 

hope  and  fear. 
Well  hath  she  learnt  the  sorrowing  heart  to 

brighten  and  to  cheer  ; 
Long  years  of  weary  weakness  have  not  passed 

away  in  vain, 
If  the  holy  art  of  sympathy  they  taught  her  to 

attain. 

Her  fairy  footstep  falleth  as  a  noiseless  flake 

of  snow. 
So  violet-like  and  still  that  we  her  presence 

hardly  know ; 
Cut  like  a  gleaming  vessel-path,  far  glittering 

through  the  night. 
She  leaves  a  memory  behind  of  soft  and  silvery 

light. 


Our  Gem  Wreath.  1 8 1 

Within  the  crystal  cavern  of  retirement  ye  find 
That  gem  of  inward  radiance,  her  *  meek  and 

quiet'  mind  ; 
Not  like    the  flashing  topaz,    or    the  ruby's 

gorgeous  glow, 
She  is  a  precious  Amethyst,  whose  value 

well  we  know. 


II. 

Now  turn  we  to  that  merry  maiden. 
With  azure  eye,  and  smooth  bright  hair  , 
A  lily  blossom,  fragi-ance-laden, 
Is  not  more  fair. 


A  dewdrop  to  the  thirsty  flower, 
A  sun-ray  gilding  every  cloud, 
A  rainbow  when  the  thunder-shower 
Is  rushing  loud ; 


A  spirit  full  of  pleasant  brightness, 
That  speaks  from  lip,  and  cheek,  and  bro--. 
To  whose  glad  spell  of  cheering  lightness 
E'en  grief  must  bow. 


1 82  The  Mi7iistry  of  Song. 

Her  hand  hath  learnt  with  wondrous  power 
Scenes  of  rare  loveliness  to  trace, 
And  picture  forms  with  airy  dower 
Of  beauteous  grace. 

The  breath  of  flattery  hath  not  tainted 
Her  simple  thought  with  pride's  dark  stain  ; 
Because  her  leaves  are  richly  painted, 
Is  the  rose  vain  ? 


Then  as  an  orient  Emerald  shining, 
Long  may  her  loveliness  be  set 
Among  the  sister-gems,  entwining 
Our  coronet. 


III. 


Say,  who  shall  form  the  vision-centre  now  ? 
She  of  the  large,  soft  eye,  and  pensive  smile, 
She  of  the  earnest  gaze,  and  thoughtful  brow : 
Who  would  not  love  to  read  her  looks  awhile, 
Or  list  that  often  silent  voice,  whose  flow 
Like  distant  waterfall  is  heard,  so  sweet  and 
low? 


Our  Gem  Wreath.  183 

Not  many  summers  o'er  her  youth  have  cast 
Their  varying  sun  and  shade,  and  we  might 

deem 
No  breath  of  sadness  o'er  her  soul  had  passed, 
But   for   that  orb  subdued,   like  some  lone 

stream, 
Where  tlie  sad  willows  rest  in  shadowy  love. 
While  its  blue  depth  reflects  the  sunlit  heaven 

above. 

All  calmness,  yet  deep  sorrow  she  hath  known, 
Dimming  the  star  of  hope  which  shone  so  clear. 
The  song  of  life  hath  changed  its  joyous  tone. 
The  pearl  of  life  hath  melted  to  a  tear ; 
But  star  and  song  shall  rise  in  brighter  day. 
And  hers  that  priceless  Pearl  which  none  may 
take  away. 

Her  sorrow,  all  unspoken,  doth  but  twine 
Our  earnest  love  more  changelessly  around  her ; 
While  we  look  onward,  upward,  for  the  time 
When   Joy's    fair   garland    shall    again   have 

crowned  her, 
Who  as  the  Pearl  of  all  our  wreath  is  gleam- 
ing, 
In  mild  and  moonlit  radiance  softly  'mid  us 
beaming. 


84  The  Ministry  of  So7ig. 


IV. 

Like  a  flash  of  meteor  light, 
Strangely  gladdening  and  bright, 
Is  the  youngest  of  the  band, 
Making  every  heart  expand. 

Like  a  petrel  on  the  wave, 
What  to  her  though  tempests  rave  i 
She  virill  skim  each  foamy  crest. 
Making  all  around  her  blest. 

Like  a  song-bird  of  the  spring, 
She  is  ever  on  the  wing ; 
Carolling  in  blithest  glee, 
Like  the  wild  breeze,  fresh  and  free. 

Like  a  beautiful  gazelle 
Bounding  over  hill  and  dell ; 
Like  the  scented  hawthorn-flowers, 
Ever  scattering  blossom-showers. 

Can  a  star  of  light  be  found, 
Shedding  aught  but  light  around  ? 
Joy  and  gladness  must  be  nigh, 
Where  her  starry  pinions  fly. 


Oitr  Gem  Wreath.  185 

Clear  and  open  as  the  day, 
All  may  trust  her  glancing  ray, 
All  must  love  its  rainbow  light ; 
Is  she  not  a  Diamond  bright ! 


V. 

And  the  last  maiden, — what  is  she? 
She  sees  not  herself  as  others  see, 

From  an  outward  point  of  view  ; 
She  only  knows  the  scenes  within. 
The  weary  conflict,  and  the  sin, 
The  strivings  a  better  life  to  win, 

And  the  gleams  of  gladness  too. 

But  little  she  knows  of  the  secret  cells. 
Where  in  lonely  twilight  the  spirit  dwells 

In  an  ever  mysterious  home. 
Where  music,  and  beauty,  and  sweet  perfumC; 
Grim  storms,  and  the  blackness  of  the  tomb, 
In  morning  brightness,  and  midnight  gloom, 

In  an  untracked  labyrinth  roam. 

How  many  a  chamber  within  is  sealed  ! 
How  wondrous  the  little  that  is  revealed 
In  a  scarce-caught  whispering  tone  I 


iS6  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

Strange  thoughts  come  forth  to  her  outer  gaze. 
Wild  fancies  flash  with  spectral  rays, 
And  feelings  glow  with  uncertain  blaze  ; 
But  their  fountain  is  all  unknown. 

Ah  !  she  would  long  to  glean  a  ray 
From  each  lovely  gem  of  this  summer  lay, 

For  her  own  are  faint  and  few. 
The  tremulous  Opal's  changeful  light 
May  emblem  her,  now  dark,  now  bright, 
Yet  blending  in  love  with  each  sister  sprite 

In  a  union  fond  and  true. 


Such  are  the  five,  as  now  they  seem 
In  the  golden  haze  of  Memory's  dream. 
But  the  future  !  who  may  lift  the  veil 
And  read  its  yet  unwritten  tale  ! 
The  rose,  or  the  thorn,  the  sun,  the  cloud, 
The  gleeful  heart,  or  the  spirit  bowed, 
The  song  of  joy,  or  the  wail  of  woe. 
Which  shall  be  theirs,  we  may  not  know. 
Then  sorrow  and  joy  alike  we  leave 

In  the  Hand  which  doeth  all  things  well. 
And  calmly  from  that  Hand  receive 

All  that  each  coming  year  may  tell. 
Our  jewel-garland  lives  by  Him  ; 

We  would  not  ask  of  life  or  death. 


My  Name.  1 87 


Who  first  shall  break  its  shining  rim  \ 

It  shall  be  as  the  Master  saith  : 
He  only  shall  untwine  the  bond, 
So  fair  and  faithful,  fresh  and  fond. 
But  oh  that  each  who  glistens  now 

In  this  verse-woven  coronet, 
Upon  the  Saviour's  thorn-wreathed  brow 

May  as  a  living  gem  be  set ! 
Then  never  shall  their  light  grow  dim ; 
Redeemed  and  sanctified  by  Him, 
Their  life  and  love  in  blended  rays 
Shall  shine  in  everlasting  praise. 


MY   NAMEA 

FROM  childish  days  I  never  heard 
My  own  baptismal  name  ; 
Too  small,  too  slight,  too  full  of  glee 
Aught  else  but  *  little  Fan '  to  be. 
The  stately  *  Frances '  not  in  me 
Could  any  fitness  claim. 

'  Suggested  by  the  question,  '  What  does  the  lettci 
U  in  your  initials  (F.  R.  H.)  represent?' 


iS8  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

Now,  in  the  crowded  halls  of  life, 

May  it  be  mine  to  bring 
Some  gentle  stir  of  the  heated  air. 
Some  coolness  falling  fresh  and  fair, 

Like  a  passing  angel's  wing. 

My  father's  name, — oh  how  I  love 

Its  else  unwonted  look  ! 
For  his  dear  sake  right  dear  I  hold 
Each  letter,  changed,  as  he  has  told, 
Long  since  from  early  Saxon  mould, 

*  The  rising  of  the  brook. '^ 

Of  music,  holiness,  and  love 

That  name  will  always  tell. 
While  sacred  chant  and  anthem  rise, 
Or  mourners  live  whose  deepest  sighs 
To  echoes  of  a  Father's  will 
He  tuned,  or  child,  or  grandchild  still 

On  his  bright  memory  dwell. 

But  *  what  the  R  doth  represent,' 

I  value  and  revere  ; 
A  diamond  clasp  it  seems  to  be 
On  golden  chains  enlinking  me 

'  ■  Heavergill ' — the  heaving  or  rising  of  the  brook,  oi 


My  Name.  189 


In  loyal  love  to  England's  hope, 

Bulwark  'gainst  infidel  and  Pope, 

The  Church  I  hold  so  dear. 

Three  hundred  years  ago  was  one 

Who  held  with  stedfast  hand 
That  chalice  of  the  truth  of  God, 
And  poured  its  crystal  stream  abroad 
Upon  the  thirsting  land. 

The  moderate,  the  wise,  the  calm, 

The  learned,  brave  and  good, ' 
A  guardian  of  the  sacred  ark, 
A  burning  light  in  places  dark. 
For  cruel,  changeless  Rome  a  mark. 
Our  Bishop  RIDLEY  stood. 

The  vengeance  of  that  foe  nought  else 

But  fiery  doom  could  still : 
Too  surely  fell  the  lightning  stroke 
Upon  that  noble  English  oak, 

^  '  A  man  beautified  with  such  excellent  qualities,  so 
ghostly  inspired  and  godly  learned,  and  now  writtefi 
doubtless  in  the  book  of  life  with  the  blessed  saints  of 
the  Almighty,  crowned  and  throned  amongst  the 
glorious  company  of  martyrs.' — Foxe's  Ads  and  Moiu- 
meiits. 


1 90  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

Whose  acorn-memory  survives 

In  forest  ranks  of  earnest  lives, 

And  martyr-souls  in  will. 

Rome  offered  life  for  faith  laid  down  : 

Such  ransom  paid  not  he  ! 
*  As  long  as  breath  is  in  this  frame, 
My  Lord  and  Saviour  Christ  His  name 
And  His  known  truth  I'll  not  deny  : ' 
He  said  (and  raised  his  head  on  high), 

*  God's  will  be  done  in  me.'  ^ 

He  knelt  and  prayed,  and  kissed  the  stake, 

And  blessed  his  Master's  name 
That  he  was  called  His  cross  to  take, 
And  counted  worthy  for  His  sake 
To  suffer  death  and  shame.  ^ 

Though  fierce  the  fire  and  long  the  pain, 

The  martyr's  God  was  nigh  ; 
Till  from  that  awful  underglow 
Of  torture  terrible  and  slow, 
Above  the  weeping  round  about. 
Once  more  the  powerful  voice  rang  out 

His  Saviour's  own  last  cry. 

*  See  Works  of  Bishop   Ridley. — Parker  Society, 
pp.  295  and  296. 
^  Ibid. 


My  Na7ne.  191 


Oh  faithful  unto  death  !  the  crown 

Was  shining  on  thy  brow, 
Before  the  ruddy  embers  paling, 
And  sobbing  after-gusts  of  wailing 
Had  died  away,  and  left  in  silence 
That  truest  shrine  of  British  Islands, 

That  spot  so  sacred  now  ! 

In  dear  old  England  shineth  yet 

The  candle  lit  that  day ; 
Right  clear  and  strong  its  flames  arise, 
Undimmed,  unchanged,  toward  the  skies, 
By  God's  good  grace  it  never  dies, 

A  living  torch  for  aye. 

'T  is  said  that  while  he  calmly  stood 

And  waited  for  the  flame. 
He  gave  each  trifle  that  he  had, 
True  relic-treasure,  dear  and  sad, 

To  each  who  cared  to  claim. 
I  was  not  there  to  ask  a  share. 
But  reverently  for  ever  wear 

That  noble  martyr's  name^ 


192  The  Ministry  of  Song. 


FAITH  AND  REASON. 

REASON  unstrings  the  harp  to  see 
Wherein  the  music  dwells  ; 
I'^aith  pours  a  Hallelujah  song, 
And  heavenly  rapture  swells. 
While  Reason  strives  to  count  the  drops 

That  lave  our  narrow  strand, 
Faith  launches  o'er  the  mighty  deep. 
To  seek  a  better  land. 

One  is  the  foot  that  slowly  treads 

Where  darkling  mists  enshroud  ; 
The  other  is  the  wing  that  cleaves 

Each  heaven-obscuring  cloud. 
Reason,  the  eye  which  sees  but  that 

On  which  its  glance  is  cast ; 
Faith  is  the  thought  that  blends  in  one 

The  Future  and  the  Past. 

In  hours  of  darkness.  Reason  waits, 

Like  those  in  days  of  yore. 
Who  rose  not  from  their  night-bound  place, 

On  dark  Egyptian  shore. 


Faith  and  Reason.  193 

But  Faith  more  firmly  clasps  the  hand 

Which  led  her  all  the  day, 
And  when  the  wished  for  morning  dawn^. 

Is  farther  on  her  way. 

By  Reason's  alchymy  in  vain 

Is  golden  treasure  planned  ; 
Faith  meekly  takes  a  priceless  crown, 

Won  by  no  mortal  hand. 
While  Reason  is  the  labouring  oar 

That  smites  the  wrathful  seas, 
Faith  is  the  snowy  sail  spread  out 

To  catch  the  freshening  breeze. 

Reason,  the  telescope  that  scans 

A  universe  of  light ; 
But  Faith,  the  angel  who  may  dwell 

Among  those  regions  bright. 
Reason,  a  lonely  towering  elm, 

May  fall  before  the  blast ; 
Faith,  like  the  ivy  on  the  rock, 

Is  safe  in  clinging  fast. 

While  Reason,  like  a  Levite,  waits 
Where  priest  and  people  meet, 

Faith,  by  a  'new  and  living  way,' 
Hath  gained  the  mercy-seat. 


1 94  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

While  Reason  but  returns  to  tell 

That  this  is  not  our  rest, 
Faith,  like  a  weary  dove,  hath  souglit 

A  gracious  Saviour's  breast. 

Yet  both  are  surely  precious  gifts 

From  Him  who  leads  us  home  ; 
Though  in  the  wilds  Himself  hath  trod 

A  little  while  we  roam. 
And,  linked  within  the  soul  that  knows 

A  living,  loving  Lord, 
•  Faith  strikes  the  key-note.  Reason  then 

Fills  up  the  full-toned  chord. 

Faith  is  the  upward-pointing  spire 

O'er  life's  great  temple  springing, 
From  which  the  chimes  of  love  float  forth 

Celestially  ringing  ; 
While  Reason  stands  below  upon 

The  consecrated  ground. 
And,  like  a  mighty  buttress,  clasps 

The  wide  foundation  round. 

Faith  is  the  bride  that  stands  enrobed 

In  white  and  pure  array ; 
Reason,  the  handmaid  who  may  share 

The  gladness  of  the  day. 


Lynton.  195 

Faith  leads  the  way,  and  Reason  learns 

To  follow  in  her  train  ; 
Till,  step  by  step,  the  goal  is  reached, 

And  death  is  glorious  gain. 


L  YNTON. 

WHY  does  it  seem  familiar  grounri? 
I  was  never  here  before  ; 
I  never  saw  this  fairy  dream 
Of  wood  and  wave,  of  rock  and  stream, 
Nor  watched  the  snowy  foam-line  gleam 
On  Devon's  bay-loved  shore. 


It  feels  as  Aveird  and  strange  as  though 

My  spirit  had  been  here  ; 
And  in  the  mists  of  long  ago 
An  outline  wavers  to  and  fro, 
Now  colourless,  now  all  aglow, 

Now  faint,  now  wondrous  clear. 


196  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

I  know  it  now — the  tender  spell 

On  all  this  pleasant  scene  ; 
For  memory's  first  pale  flickering  light 
Falls  on  a  long-forgotten  night, 
Though  conscious  lifetime,  dark  and  bright 

Lies  all  outstretched  between. 

The  dearest  name  I  ever  spoke 

Was  on  my  lips  that  eve  ; 
We  gave  her  *  welcome  home '  once  more, 
Unknown,  the  last  short  absence  o'er  ; 
And  now,  she  is  but  *  gone  before ' 

The  palm-branch  to  receive. 

I  know  it  now, — she  told  me  all ; 

I  sat  upon  her  knee. 
And  heard  about  the  cliff  so  tall, 
The  craggy  path,  the  rocky  wall, 
The  ever-chanting  waterfall, 

The  silver  autumn  sea  : 

The  steep  and  dangerous  way  above, 

The  winding  dell  beneath  ; 
The  rushing  Lyn,  the  shadowy  trees, 
The  hills  that  breast  the  Channel-breeze, 
The  white  ships  bound  for  western  seas  j 
One  shining  marvel- wreath  ! 


Lyiiton.  1 97 

A  little  picture  she  had  brought 

Of  Lynton's  lovely  vale  : 
I  fastened  it  upon  my  wall, 
Half  deeming  I  had  seen  it  all ; 
While  colours  came  at  fancy's  call 

To  deck  those  outlines  pale. 

Hers  then  the  charm,  so  strangely  sweet, 

Which  made  me  sit  and  gaze  ; 
'T  is  like  a  breeze  from  far-off  hills, 
Or  midnight  anthem  of  wild  rills, 
That  cools  the  fever- fire  which  fills 
Our  hot  and  hurried  days. 

It  may  be  that  the  parting  time 

Has  more  than  half  gone  by, 
That  ere  another  twenty  years 
Have  mingled  all  their  smiles  and  tears, 
We  may  have  passed  all  griefs  and  fears, 
And  her  dear  welcome  greet  our  ears 
To  her  blest  home  on  high. 

Oh,  might  it  be  !     That  far-off  land 

Is  all  unseen  as  yet : 
But  when  we  pass  its  portals  fair, 
It  may  be  that  some  glory  there 


The  Ministry  of  Song. 


Sweetly  familiar  shall  appear, 
Because  we  heard  it  whispered  here 
By  that  soft  voice,  whose  accents  dear 
We  never  can  forc^et. 


A  BIRTHDAY  GREETING  TO  MY 
FA  THER. 

1860. 

'  'T^  IS  fully  known  to  One,  by  us  yet  dimly 
JL  seen, 

The  blessing  thou  HAST  been  ; 
Yet  speaks  the  silent  love  of  many  a  mourning 
heart 
The  blessing  that  thou  ART ; 
While  traced  on  coming  years,  in  faith  and 
hope  we  see, 
•  A  blessing  thou  shalt  be  ; ' 
Then  here  in  holy  labour,  there  in  holier  rest, 
Blessing,  thou  shalt  be  blessed. 


A  Lull  in  Life.  199 


A  LULL  IN  LIFE. 

•And  He  said  unto  them,  Come  ye  yourselves  apart 
into  a  desert  place,  and  rest  awhile :  for  there 
were  many  coming  and  going,  and  they  had  no 
leisure  so  much  as  to  eat.' — Mark  vi.  31. 

OH   for    *a  desert  place'   with   only   the 
Master's  smile  ! 
Oh  for  the  '  coming  apart '  with  only  His  '  rest 

awhile  ! ' 
Many  are, 'coming  and  going'  with  busy  and 

restless  feet, 
And  the  soul  is   hungering  now,    with    *no 
leisure  so  much  as  to  eat.' 


Dear  is  my  wealth  of  love  from  many  and 

valued  friends, 
Best   of  the   earthly  gifts    that   a   bounteous 

Father  sends  ; 
Pleasant  the  counsel  sweet,  and  the  interchange 

of  thought, 
Welcome    the    twilight    hour    with    musical 

brightness  fraught. 


200  The  Ministry  of  Song. 

Dear  is  the  work  He  gives  in  many  a  varied 

way, 
Little  enough  in  itself,  yet  something  for  every 

day,— 
Something  by  pen  for  the  distant,  by  hand  or 

voice  for  the  near, 
Whether  to  soothe  or  teach,   whether  to   aid 

or  cheer. 

Not  that  I  lightly  prize  the  treasure  of  valued 

friends, 
Not   that   I   turn   aside    from   the   work    the 

Master  sends. 
Yet  I  have  longed  for  a  pause  in  the  rush  and 

whirl  of  time, 
Longed  for  silence  to  fall  instead  of  its  merriest 

chime  : 


Longed  for  a  hush  to  group  the  harmonies  of 

thought 
Round  each  melodious  strain  that  the  harp  of 

life  hath  caught. 
And  time  for  the  fitful  breeze  ^Eolian  chords 

to  bring, 
Waking  the  music  that  slept,  mute  in  the  ten* 

sionless  string : 


A  Lull  in  Life,  201 

Longed  for  a  calm  to  let  the  circles  die  away 
That   tremble   over   the   heart,    breaking  the 

heavenly  ray, 
And  to  leave  its  wavering  mirror  true  to  the 

Star  above, 
Brightened  and  stilled  to  its  depths  with  the 

quiet  of  *  perfect  love  : ' 


Longed  for  a  sabbath  of  life,  a  time  of  renew- 
ing of  youth, 

For  a  full-orbed  leisure  to  shine  on  the  foun- 
tains of  holy  truth  ; 

And  to  fill  my  chalice  anew  with  its  waters 
fresh  and  sweet, 

While  resting  in  silent  love  at  the  Master's 
glorious  feet. 


There  are  songs  which  only  flow  in  the  lone- 
liest shades  of  night, 

There  are  flowers  which  cannot  grow  in  a  blaze 
of  tropical  light. 

There  are  crystals  which  cannot  form  till  the 
vessel  be  cooled  and  stilled  ; 

Crystal,  and  flower,  and  song,  given  as  God 
hath  willed. 


The  Ministry  of  Song. 


There  is  work  which  cannot  be  done  in  the 

swell  of  a  hurrying  tide, 
But  my  hand  is  not  on  the  helm  to  turn  my 

bark  aside ; 
Yet  I  cast  a  longine  eve  on  the  hidden  and 

waveless  pool. 
Under  the  shadowing  rock,  currentless,  clear, 

and  cool. 

Well !    I  will  wait  in  the  crowd  till  He  shall 

call  me  apart, 
Till   the    silence  fall  which  shall   waken   the 

music  of  mind  and  heart ; 
Patiently  wait  till  He  give  the  work  ol  my 

secret  choice, 
ijlendmg  the  song  of  life  with  the  thrill  of  the 

Master's  voice. 


Adoration.  203 


ADORA  TION. 

0  MASTER,  at  Thy  feet 

1  bow  in  rapture  sweet ! 
Before  me,  as  in  darkening  glass, 

Some  glorious  outlines  pass, 
Of  love,  and  truth,  and  holiness,  and  power  ; 
I  own  them  Thine,  O  Christ,  and  bless  Thee 
for  this  hour. 

0  full  of  truth  and  grace, 
Smile  of  Jehovah's  face, 

O  tenderest  heart  of  love  untold  ! 

Who  may  Thy  praise  unfold  ? 
Thee,  Saviour,  Lord  of  lords  and  King  of 
kings. 
Well  may  adoring  seraphs  hymn  with  veiling 
wmgs. 

1  have  no  words  to  bring 
Worthy  of  Thee,  my  King, 

And  yet  one  anthem  in  Thy  praise 

I  long,  I  long  to  raise  ; 
The  heart  is  full,  the  eye  entranced  above, 
But  words  all  melt  away  in  silent  awe  and 
love. 


204  1  he  Ministry  of  Song. 

How  can  the  lip  be  dumb, 
The  hand  all  still  and  numb, 
When  Thee  the  heart  doth  see  and  own 

Her  Lord  and  God  alone  ? 
Tune  for  Thyself  tne  music  of  my  days, 
And  open  Thou  my  lips  that  T  may  show  Thy 
praise. 

Yea,  let  my  whole  life  be 
One  anthem  unto  Thee, 
And  let  the  praise  of  lip  and  life 

Outring  all  sin  and  strife. 
O  Jesus,  Master  !  be  Thy  name  supreme 
For  heaven  and  earth  the  one,  the  jrrand,  th£ 
eternal  theme. 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES. 


A  pearl-strewn  pathway  of  untold  gladness 

A  still  grey  haze  around  us 

Ah  1  the  weary  cares  and  fears     . 

Amid   the  brsken   waters    of   our   ever-restless 

thought    .... 
An  April  burst  of  beauty 
'  As  thy  day  thy  strength  shall  be ' 

*  Bonnie  Wee  Eric "... 
Finished  at  last  1  ... 
From  childish  days  I  never  heard 
God  doth  not  bid  thee  wait 

*  God's   everlasting  love  I     What   would'st 

more?' 

Heard  ye  the  sounds  of  joyous  glee     . 

I  gave  My  life  for  thee 

I  love  to  feel  that  I  am  taught 

I  played  with  the  whispering  rushes    . 

I've  found  at  last  the  hiding-place 

In  God's  great  field  of  labour 

Is  this  the  Peace  of  God,    this   strange, 

calm? 

Jesus,  Master,  whose  I  am 


thou 


170 
166 
9b 


1 
75 
118 
171 
133 
187 


127 
177 
105 
47 
70 
163 


2o6 


Index. 


Jesus,  Master,  whom  I  serve 

Leave  behind  earth's  empty  pleasute 

Light !  emblem  of  all  good  and  joy  !    . 

Little  one,  what  are  you  doing     . 

Lord,  is  it  still  the  right  way,  though  I  canuc 

see  Thy  face  ?  .         .         . 

Love  culminates  in  bliss  when  it  doth  reach 
Made  for  Thyself,  O  God  I  . 
Mark  ye  not  the  sunbeams  glancing     . 
Master,  speak  !    Thy  servant  heareth 
No  more  the  flowers  of  spring  are  seen 
Not  yet  thou  knowest  what  I  do 
'  Not  your  own  1 '  but  His  ye  are 
*  Now  I  see  ! '    But  not  the  parting 
O  Master,  at  Thy  feet 
Oh  the  hidden  leaves  of  Life  ! 
Oh  for  a  burst  of  song 
Oh  for  '  a  desert  place  '  with  only  the   Mastei 

smile ! 

Oh  that  I  loved  the  Father 

Oh !  to  raise  a  mighty  shout 

Only  a  look  and  a  motion  that  nobody  saw 

heard        

Our  yet  unfinished  story 

Peace,  peace  ! 

'  People  do  not  understand  me' 
Reason  unstrings  the  harp  to  see 


PAGE 

37 
125 

92 
140 


1 

Index. 

207 

PACB 

Return  !     O  wanderer  from  my  side  I  . 

100 

She  is  at  rest 

"5 

Thanks  be  to  God  1  to  whom  earth  owes      . 

25 

The  world  is  full  of  crystals.     Swift,  or  slow 

28 

There  are  those  who  deem  they  know  me  well 

137 

There  is  a  hush  in  earth  and  sky 

43 

'  There  is  no  rose  without  a  thorn  ! '    . 

95 

They  said  their  texts,  and  their  hymns  they  sang 

51 

Thine  eyes  shall  see  !    Yes,  thine,  who  blind  ere 

while 

107 

'  This  same  Jesus  ! '    Oh  !  how  sweetly 

"3 

'T  is  fully  known  to  One,  by  us  yet  dimly  seen 

198 

To  whom,  0  Saviour,  shall  we  go  ? 

102 

What  is  the  first  and  simplest  praise    . 

II 

What  will  the  summer  bring? 

72 

'  What  would'st  thou  be  ? '    The  question     . 

54 

'  What  would'st  thou  be  ? '     A  wavelet 

S8 

Where  are  the  countless  crystals 

131 

Who  saith  that  Poetry  is  not  in  thee     . 

143 

Who  shall  tell  our  untold  need      . 

109 

Whom  hear  we  tell  of  all  the  joy  which  loving 

Faith  can  bring        .... 

77 

Why  does  it  seem  familiar  ground  ?      .         .        . 

19s 

With  quivering  heart  and  trembling  will 

122 

Ye  maidens  of  Old  England  !        ,         .         .         . 

147 

Yes  !     He  knows  the  way  is  dreary 

46 

'  You  bear  the  chalice       Is  it  so,  my  friend  'I 

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